Over There and Back Again
by Red Warrior
Summary: Sequel to "A Dwarf's Pride". Months after the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo cannot say that his life in Erebor is unpleasant... but he admits it would be much better if a certain King Under the Mountain wasn't so elusive. Will it take another unexpected adventure to bring them closer?
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

**I still do not own any of those characters, except the ones I made up. I may also have been playing a bit with the dates, but nothing too serious, really.**

* * *

Bilbo Baggins stretched his limbs and yawned drowsily, nuzzling languorously back into his pillow. Months after reclaiming Erebor, he had yet to get tired of waking up in a bad, especially when said bed was more comfortable than any he had ever slept in.

He tugged the blankets and furs all around his small frame and snuggled into a big, hobbit-shaped cocoon of warmth. There, sheltered by soft sheets and basking in the peaceful glow of being only just half-awoken, Bilbo wondered what time it could possibly be.

Of all the positive things that had come with the end of their journey, not having to wake up and be on the move at dawn was maybe the greatest. Not to say that Bilbo was lazying around, no, his journey across Middle Earth had been more than enough to keep him from ever being lazy again! But you couldn't blame a respectable hobbit for enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet in the morning when said hobbit knew that his day would be filled with so many duties… and so many dwarves.

Oh, he had no real problem with dwarves, no, quite the contrary. He enjoyed watching them moving about, talking about a task or another they had accomplished the past week, a rumble of hearty laughter always at the ready down their throats to be unleashed at first chance. Most of them had come along with Dain's army, straight from the Iron Hills, and had only heard tales about Erebor the Great. But it didn't dampen their will to bring the city to its full glory the slightest bit, which mesmerized Bilbo and the hobbit felt humbled by their selflessness. Especially considering that most, if not all of them, wished to return to the Iron Hills once the rebuilding was over!

No, the dwarves themselves did not bother Bilbo, rather… it was just that dwarven culture was a very peculiar one, to his eyes. Everybody stamping around, more often than not in large crowds, exchanging harsh words in Khuzdul and brutally bumping foreheads was a bit unnerving, to say the least, as was the ever-present cacophony of hammers and chisels. And then, there was the way they wolfed down food and gulped down ale by the gallon… Bilbo could not bring himself to think about the food fights, and how he probably ought to give a lecture to that load of idiots for them to understand why rabbit stew was better off in their stomachs, instead of in their neighbors' hair. But it would probably be a waste of time and saliva.

Bilbo sighed happily and rolled onto his back, his hands coming up to rest under his head as he looked at the ceiling with a smile. Had he been told the previous year at Bag End that he would find himself living with an army of dwarves under a mountain, he would have laughed and told that person that they should go easy on Old Toby. Then he would have gone inside and locked the door. Just in case.

After a last cat-like stretch, Bilbo kicked back his blankets and scooted over to sit on the edge of the bed. It was preposterous, really, the sheer size of it; you could have fit three dwarves in there, and not skinny ones! And not just the bed, but the rest of the chambers as well was designed to host way more important occupants than simple hobbits. To the far side of the room, there was a hearth where dying embers of what had been a merry fire the night prior were still glowing red. On either side of the hearth, two armchairs sat facing one another, only separated by a low wooden table that was currently laden with books that Bilbo had yet to read, but the hobbit knew for a fact that they would still be gathering dust for a little while. On the other side of the bed, next to a very fine mahogany closet, a door led to Bilbo's study. It was maybe his favorite room, for it deeply resembled the one he had had, back in Bag End, down to the maps on the walls and the quantity of books crammed on the shelves, and it had also been a gift. He remembered Thorin's face as the dwarf gave him a tour of his new chambers, leading him in the study with large hands over his eyes, and his booming laugh as he removed the appendages and his burglar let out a squeal of delight.

Bilbo smiled fondly at the memory, reaching out across the bed to grab his dressing gown. It had been the day Thorin had finally been able to walk without a cane or someone to support him, and now that Bilbo thought about it, the fierce hug he had given the King Under the Mountain that day might have been a little too much for his still tender wounds. But he couldn't remember hearing Thorin complain about it, so it must have been alright.

As was customary, Bilbo looked down to check on his feet. He was pleased to notice that most of his hair was growing back. It was still timid, and he had long since given up on his hopes to get his thick coat of brown pelt back, but he was fairly sure that in a month or two, he would have enough curls on his feet for it to be acceptable – honorable even – by hobbit standards. Anything was better than naked, burn-scarred ankles, at any rate. But it would still be some time until the skin there allowed the former burglar to trot painlessly on rocks once more.

With a satisfied nod, Bilbo tied his dressing gown around his waist and hopped off the bed. He hummed appreciatively as he wriggled his toes on the thick rug; another gift from Thorin, made of soft white fur with darker stripes running across it – though it hadn't been disclosed, Bilbo had a fair idea of where it came from. He winced however as his soles hit the cold floor; this, he was still getting used to. Without a fire to warm it up, the mountain would always be cold, but for now, he bore the cruel assault on his sensitive soles and eagerly padded over to the deep brown curtains that concealed the best feature in the room yet.

He pulled the heavy fabric aside and relished in the warm rays of sunlight that immediately assaulted his skin and bathed his face. In Erebor, a balcony was a rare commodity, only reserved for the highest members of dwarven society according to most, since it was thought of as a weak spot in the mountain's powerful bulk. Which is why Bilbo had been deeply surprised to discover the wide ledge adorning the southern side of his rooms. He had learnt, some time later, that Thorin had it specially built with the hobbit in mind. All of the King's effort to make Bilbo feel at home warmed his heart; although from time to time, he wondered if the dwarf wasn't acting out of guilt for the way he had treated Bilbo at the end of their journey, and tried to make up for it by showering the hobbit with gifts.

Bilbo sighed as he leaned on the silver-streaked dark stone that had been chiselled into a thick guardrail, gazing thoughtfully at Dale in the distance. To be honest, he did not know where he and Thorin stood, lately. A King's schedule was an extraordinary busy one, especially when said King had his whole kingdom to rebuild. When the day's meetings and patrols were over, Thorin could still be found working in his study, scrolls scattered all about him – even on the ground, to Bilbo's horror – and quill scratching away in the candlelight. Some nights, if he had some courage left and didn't collapse right into bed, the hobbit would fetch a cup of tea from the kitchens and use it as an excuse to visit Thorin. Otherwise, several days could fly by without any news from the dwarven king.

Bilbo would always be greeted with a warm smile and a deep voice inquiring about his well-being. He would return a smile of his own and announce that he was well, and that he hoped that it was the same for the mighty King Under the Mountain. Thorin always snorted and accepted the offered tea with muttered thanks, his broad fingers lingering over Bilbo's slender ones as the cup was passed from burglar to King. They would exchange a gaze, and the hobbit would marvel at the tenderness that could be found in those same eyes that had been darkened with greed and madness during the fiercest bouts of gold-sickness. But as he would struggle for something to say, Thorin would turn to his scrolls again, breaking the moment.

This was all Bilbo seemed to get from the King. Oh, of course, gazes and smiles were always welcome, as was the odd hug that could come out of a fortuitous encounter in the halls – and even, if Bilbo was particularly lucky, a light kiss to the forehead. But there was no trace of the passion of their first – and, so far, only – kiss from months before, in the tent. On his darkest evenings, usually after about five days of Thorin's absence, Bilbo wondered if the dwarf had acted under the influence of the fierce fever that had ravaged his mind after his wounds were infected, and had simply forgotten that he had ensnared a hobbit's heart. The mere thought pulled sharply at his chest and Bilbo would live through a very unpleasant night, no amount of furs seeming quite enough to ease the coldness he felt on the inside.

But it would just take another flashing grin from Thorin, and Bilbo would forget.

"He's just busy," he said as his gaze wandered absently all over the plains surrounding the mountain. "That's it. Just busy."

A thunderous knock on his door almost had him toppling over the guardrail and down the side of the mountain. As he held his heart and tried to steady his breathing, a bellow came from the other side of the oaken panel. "Bilbo! Are you in there?"

Bilbo sighed as he recognized Kili's voice and lack of manners. "Yes, I am," he answered, padding back into his bedroom. "Don't come in, though, I'm not dressed yet."

There was an audible groan and suspicious grumbling about Hobbits and their silly modesty. Bilbo only chuckled and began sorting through his mahogany closet for clothes, trying to decide if the green waistcoat would look better with brown or grey trousers. "What is it you want, Kili?" he asked as he finally settled on the brown breeches and snatched a silver belt as well.

"Well, I've been told that you have some time off this morning, since Ori is sick and you can't organize the library without him," the prince said, and from the soft sounds that Bilbo's ears picked up, the young dwarf was shuffling his booted feet. "I thought you would be glad for the company."

"Let me guess," Bilbo mused as he wriggled out of his sleeping clothes and slipped the trousers on. He frowned at the fastenings that were pulled a little too tight around the waist; maybe he had indulged a little too much in Bombur sumptuous desserts. "Fili has left with Thorin to attend to some task, possibly out of Erebor, and you are left wandering the halls alone like a lost soul without anyone to bother."

Bilbo laughed when sudden silence filled the air, and he knew that he had nailed it. "Alright, you figured it out," Kili groaned. "They have a meeting to oversee, or something like that. But! I assure you my intentions for seeking you out are completely respectable."

"I am listening." The buttons on the green waistcoat were tiny dragon heads, and Bilbo marvelled at the details on the silver ornaments. Whoever had made the garment was highly skilled.

"I wanted to know if you wished to come with me down to the Western Hall and see if we can find new tools for your garden."

Bilbo froze, the oaken comb he had picked up in his washroom completely forgotten as he turned to the door. "Gardening tools?" He thought for a while and something clicked in his mind, prompting a beaming smile from his features. "Good gracious! Is it today?"

"It is, but if you waste any more time, there won't be anything left! And I want honey cake."

With a clear laugh and a promise to be quick, Bilbo hurried through his morning routine. He hastily combed his wild hair and threw on a green fur-rimmed jacket. How could he forget! He had waited for this moment for weeks, even buggering Thorin about it once or twice. And to think he had almost missed it!

Almost missed the first market in Erebor since the arrival of Smaug.

"I'm coming!" Bilbo announced as he snatched a few coins from a pouch on the bedside table and opened the door.

Kili, who had been leaning against the wall while waiting for the hobbit, straightened up and offered a smirk. "My, you are worse than a girl sometimes," he joked. "If all Hobbits are like you, I'm glad we picked you and not a female to be our burglar!"

Bilbo snorted and gave the dwarf a playful swat. "Well, you could have picked my dear cousin, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. She could have used the exercise… though she would have been appalled at your evident lack of manners, lad."

Kili laughed and wrapped a companionable arm around Bilbo's shoulder. "Considering everything you told me about her, she would have been appalled at everything, anyway."

"You do sum it up pretty well."

The two of them made their way down the great staircases and large passageways that led to Erebor's lower halls, chatting lightly. Kili had great news; Fili's eye was almost back to normal, the golden prince had even managed to read some words from a book the previous day with his good eye closed. However, the scar that ran from his hairline to his cheekbone, courtesy of a warg's claws, he would keep for life.

"You ought to see how he shows it off," Kili growled as they side-stepped to let a broad dwarf carrying an enormous anvil through. "His head is so swollen, I bet it couldn't fit in your hobbit hole, back in the Shire. And I, of course, only get _that_." The young prince made a harsh gesture toward his own chin, where a thin scar was drawing a neat line through hair, but still discreet enough to pass unseen by most. "Some useless thing that impedes my beard's growth, on top of that."

"Now, now, Kili, it looks fearsome, honestly," Bilbo said as solemnly as he could, giving the dwarf a friendly pat. "Ladies all around Erebor must be in awe."

Kili pouted like a dwarfling and Bilbo only gave a fond smile. The lad probably had no idea how close he had come to meeting Mahal first-hand… and it was certainly better this way. He had seen him and his brother stand protectively over Thorin's lifeless form, swinging their weapons at whoever got a little too close, and roaring in pain as arrows and spears stabbed their battered bodies. He had seen them fall, dark blood obscuring their faces, and Bilbo's heart had died a little that day at the thought that he might lose all three dwarves at the same time.

Their recovery had been slow, and most unpleasant, but the two young dwarves had healed quite nicely and now only had to bear with scars and memories that they wouldn't forget anytime soon, not unlike most of the company.

Bilbo had been relieved to learn that their other companions had escaped the battle with their lives, though the price they paid for it differed for each dwarf. Some had suffered very little, by dwarven standards – Bofur had only had a sprained ankle to add to the obligatory cuts and bruises – but others had stayed alive at a heavier cost. Those were Ori and Gloin.

The young scribe had lost his left hand to the orcs, his fingers shattered beyond repair under a huge mace, and Oin had had no choice but to cut the appendage off. Ori was dealing with a missing hand quite admirably, if Bilbo was any judge, but at times the dwarf could be found wincing and rubbing his mangled wrist. As for Gloin, well, a warg had decided that he would make for a nice snack and had lunged for his face. The red-haired axe-wielder had ducked to escape the fearsome fangs, but not really quickly enough. The beast had torn his ear off, along with a small chunk of his bearded jaw. Well, not so small after all; whenever Bilbo remembered walking in on Oin stitching his brother's cheek close over his teeth again, he felt sick. The wound had healed as well as was possible, but the missing patch of beard would probably never grow back.

Then there was the usual array of battle wounds; Dwalin had had broken ribs, Dori had taken a sword to the thigh, Bifur an arrow to the shoulder, and so on. Everyone had made a full recovery and Bilbo never dwelled on what might have happened if they hadn't for too long.

"Do you think Bofur and Bifur will be there?" Kili asked as he held one door open for Bilbo to walk through. "They were thinking about taking a stall, last week."

"Well, I expect people from Dale will come over, people who have children," Bilbo answered as they walked into the Entrance Hall and were immediately assaulted by the cries of thousands of Ravens. "I wager they'll enjoy finding toys in the market."

"Children? Bofur made little leather replicas of Smaug, I don't think people will buy them for their kids but to wring the beast's neck themselves everyday." Kili smirked boyishly. "I was thinking of buying one for Uncle Thorin, as a joke."

"I am not sure he would laugh, Kili."

The Entrance Hall was particularly busy that day, what with dwarves running about carrying things and ravens flying in and out of Erebor. The great birds had returned massively to the dwarven kingdom, flying from Ravenhill with Roäc in the lead, taking on their former role of messenger from before Smaug arrived. They had built giant nests in the Entrance Hall, near the ceiling, and a day couldn't pass by without a new egg hatching out and a tiny black beak greeting the world for the first time. Bilbo had gotten used to the large black birds roaming the kingdom to deliver messages, but he would still flinch when one of them unleashed a string of Westron. A dragon he could abide, but talking birds? That was pushing it.

Even though he was very fond of Roäc and always kept dried meat in his room for the old raven.

"So, did Thorin settle on a name for the market yet?" Bilbo asked, his eyes darting to the stables near the entrance, making a mental note to sneak an apple for his pony Snowball in the evening. It had been a while since he last took the lad out for a stroll. "I hope so, isn't he supposed to give some sort of speech before lunch?"

"He is, and yes, he has settled on a name," Kili grinned as they were only one door away from the Western Hall. "He is naming it the market of Armukhakkar, and it is to be held in Erebor once a week."

"Well, that's…" Bilbo cleared his throat. "That's a good name, a very good dwarven name. Are you allowed to tell me what it means? And if you aren't, please just tell me that he didn't make good on his promise to name it "The Place Where You Buy Stuff", as he intended."

Kili barked out a laugh and gave the hobbit's back a solid clap. "No, he didn't call it like that! And you know that we trust you enough to teach you some Khuzdul, Bilbo. Maybe not all of it, you would need two hundred years for that, but you should feel free to ask what some words mean." Bilbo grumbled at that; the company may be comfortable with a hobbit nosing around in Khuzdul dictionaries, but he knew for a fact that he would be frowned upon by dwarves from the Iron Hills. He knew most curse words, though.

"Anyway, Bilbo Baggins, I am proud to present…" Kili led Bilbo through an enormous stone arch and opened his arms wide, encompassing the Western Hall before them. "_Armukhakkar Manarbul_! The Market of the Shire!"

Bilbo's mouth fell open as his eyes tried to take in the whole market. But it was a very, very hard task, for there was scarcely one single corner of the great room that wasn't laden with stalls or decorations. A thousand different colors painted the market, whether it was because of the sumptuous rolls of fabric at the tailor's shop or the ripe fruit dangling from hooks in the back. Goodness, there was… there were even _flowers_! True, the vendors were Men and Women, but still, it was a very nice touch. There was a lively tune going on, courtesy of a merry band of dwarven musicians who were playing on a wooden platform in the middle of the stalls.

It was perfect.

Then Kili's last words finally registered in Bilbo's mind and he turned to the dwarf. "The… the Shire?" he stammered. "Why?"

"In your honor, of course," Kili smiled gently. "Uncle Thorin sent out word for every vendor in the area, regardless of their trade, that they would be welcome here once a week. So there's food, clothing, toys, flowers… He said that he had only encountered such markets in the Shire, and so he named it as a tribute to you and your kin."

"That's… very sweet of him," Bilbo said, his eyes returning to the colorful stalls laden with goods. To be honest, all of this was beyond sweet. It was positively adorable coming from the King, and made little bubbles of warmth explode in the hobbit's chest. Oh, that silly scoundrel, he hadn't told Bilbo a single thing. Well, if Thorin thought he could get away that easily, he was sorely mistaken. There would two cups of tea and a couple pastries from the market awaiting the dwarf in the evening, along with good, proper thanks. "Armukhakkar, you said?"

"Absolutely. You are a natural, Bilbo!"

Kili and Bilbo walked off and among the stalls and general agitation that filled the Western Hall on this fine morning. It was a wonder to see everyone, Dwarves and Men alike, so cheerful and in high spirits. They all bowed respectfully to Kili, and more often than not Bilbo would find himself swept in a strong handshake as people thanked him profusely for his deeds. He was touched, and graced everyone with warm smiles, but felt relieved nonetheless when Kili saved him with a gentle but firm arm around his shoulders. He thanked Yavanna that he hadn't come alone; he knew they meant well, but they tended to be a bit overwhelming.

"Look! I found Bofur and Bifur!" Kili exclaimed.

"Kili, I'm sure your Uncle taught you that pointing is rude… but yes, I see them."

In front of the cousins' stall, a small gathering of children from Dale was giggling and squealing in delight as Bifur gave them small firecrackers, setting a few off as Bofur laughed uproariously at the young ones thrilled cries. Before and around the two dwarves, toys of various shapes and sizes were laid out. Bilbo immediately spotted the already famous leather-Smaug on a shelf; reared up on its hind legs with its wings outstretched, the toy strongly resembled its deceased model. It even had red fabric flowing out of its mouth when you opened it in a parody of fire-breathing, Bilbo noted with some level of amusement. Trust Dwarves to make the most of things, and Bofur, as it seemed, had his very own definition of irony.

Bifur was actually handing a leather dragon over to a young boy when he spotted Bilbo and Kili. He elbowed his cousin, who looked up from his little wooden horses and grinned. "Bilbo!" the dwarf with the floppy hat greeted warmly. "Haven't seen you for days, lad!"

"Ah, yes, sorry, I guess I've been a bit busy," the hobbit apologized. He took in the abundance of toys in the stall. "As you were, apparently."

"Aye, business's never been so good!" Bofur laughed, ruffling a young lad's hair. "I kind of missed all the little ones, they're a real joy to work for, y'know."

Bifur muttered something in Khuzdul that had Bofur and Kili chuckling, but which meaning was lost on Bilbo. However, he understood partially what had been said when Bofur answered: "Aye, but I have yet to find a lady who can stand me for more than two hours, let alone convince her to give me kids."

"Do not despair, Bofur," Kili said as he patted the older dwarf's shoulder. "When our people travels from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, I'm sure you will find what you are looking for."

"By the way, how is this going?" Bilbo asked, his curiosity aroused. "Did we receive word from Ered Luin?"

Kili nodded. "The raven Uncle sent has returned. Dispositions are being taken for everyone to depart as soon as possible, but it might be a month or two before they are ready. Which is just as well, since the builders haven't finished the habitations yet. Uncle is quite pleased."

Suddenly, the lively music came to a stop and all eyes turned to something behind Bilbo. Puzzled, the hobbit turned around and his eyes instantly fell on a small balcony, carved out of the southern wall. It was lovely in itself, but what attracted Bilbo's gaze was not the fancy guardrail or the thick vein of gold that ran under it, no.

It was the majestic dwarven King standing on it.

Thorin was clad in a splendid midnight blue coat, all rimmed with the purest white fur and engraved with silver runes. His large belt buckle was sporting black stones to match the beads in his hair. And to think that mane had once been cropped short by the Elvenking's orders! It now reached past the King's shoulders, long enough to be pulled back in an elegant ponytail if Thorin wished. But it was not the case that day; the dark strands flowed freely, some of them weaved into intricate braids. He was almost the same as the night he had entered Bag End; though, if Bilbo squinted, he could see the dwarf had more silver in his hair. None in his thick brush of a beard, however.

Thorin looked positively regal, with his chest puffed out and his hands behind his back, as he swept his blue gaze over the Western Hall. One could not deny that he had become every bit the King he was meant to be, the stone-carved crown on his brow only acting as confirmation.

Dwarves and Men alike fell silent as Thorin II Oakenshield opened his mouth and filled the hall with his rich baritone voice.

"My friends," he began. "I am happy to have you all as guests on this very special day, and it gladdens my heart to see so many of you answered my call. Today, through your efforts, we celebrate the return of a kingdom's most important asset: trading." All of Thorin's formal speeches had been in Khuzdul, but for the Men's sake, he must have seen Westron as more fitting, and Bilbo was glad for it. "In honor of this blessed day, it is my greatest pleasure to invite you and your loved ones to a feast at noon, in the Main Hall. In the meantime," Thorin said a little louder to cover the crowd's enthusiastic cries, but there was a smile on his face, "in the meantime, I wish you all luck and I hope you enjoy this very first market of Armukhakkar!"

Shouts resonated all around Bilbo, both in Westron and Khuzdul, as the crowd cheered for the King. As roars of "Oakenshield! Oakenshield!" erupted from the marketplace, the hobbit shook his head and looked up at the dwarven King with a fond smile. Trust Thorin to spoil his people rotten every chance he gets.

A shiver ran down Bilbo's spine as he caught the dwarf's eyes, and it only worsened when said dwarf's lips stretched into a large smile. Before Bilbo could repay him in kind, Thorin disappeared behind a red curtain.

"A feast! I suppose that's why Bombur was so busy yesterday and this morning," Bofur mused as Bifur nodded fiercely from behind. "I hope there'll be roast chicken."

"And smoked salmon! Oh, and cake, that's always nice," Kili nodded.

Bilbo's stomach growled loudly at that, prompting a laugh from the dwarves around him and a blush to his cheeks. He hadn't had any breakfast, and those oafs were talking about food! What did they expect, honestly?

As the three dwarves debated over what kind of food they would wolf down at the banquet, Bilbo's ears strayed away and he found himself absently listening to conversations all around him.

"Dad, was that dwarf the King?" a small boy asked shyly.

"Yes, Reron, this is Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain," a man answered. "He said we are welcome to eat here for lunch."

"He's nice!"

"That he is, child."

"Can Mom come too?"

"Of course. Let's go and fetch her, alright?"

"Yes Dad!"

Bilbo smiled softly as father and son walked away hand in hand. True, there was no telling what the future would hold for Thorin, but for now, the King was thoroughly loved.

As soon as he had been strong enough to sit up in his bed, the dwarf had sent for Bard the Bowman. His mind no longer suffering from the effects of the gold-fever, he had agreed to trade the Arkenstone for enough gold to rebuild Dale _and _Esgaroth. He had even detached a few dwarves to help the men in their task. The elves, however, he had wanted nothing to do with at that time, and Bilbo could understand. Thorin had been willing to do right by the people of Lake-town, and repair the damage caused by Smaug's fury because of him, but he had growled at the mere mention of those who had imprisoned him and cut off his hair.

It had taken about three months, and a large amount of coaxing from Bilbo, for the dwarf to admit begrudgingly that the elves of Mirkwood had fought honorably and had been a great help to the wounded, including himself. He wouldn't frown upon them if they entered Erebor, same as he would not avoid their forest like the plague, but he would seek no further friendship between his people and Thranduil's. They had joined forces against a common foe, won the battle, and that was the end of it. And if Bilbo felt the urge to have a cup of tea with the tree-shaggers, it would be useless to send Thorin an invitation. The King had spoken.

Bilbo chuckled at the memory. The word "tree-shagger" in Thorin's mouth never failed to make him laugh.

"…lbo?"

Kili's voice brought him back to the present and the hobbit blinked. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I was wondering: which Smaug do you prefer? The leather one or the wooden one?"

"Am I allowed to answer that our quest made me hate dragons, regardless of their shape and size?"

Kili huffed. "Come on! Which one do you think Uncle will like best?"

"For the last time, Kili, Thorin would like neither."

"Neither what?"

Bilbo whirled around and narrowly escaped bumping into a massive chest. He looked up timidly, and sure enough, a pair of clear blue eyes stared right back at him. There was a soft glow in Thorin's eyes, but also a glint of puzzlement as he tried to figure out what Bilbo and his nephew had been talking about before he made his presence known.

If the King had looked good from afar, up close he was the perfect depiction of magnificence. His hair was neatly combed and braided, and rested upon his shoulders with grace, the beads making soft clinking sounds as they brushed against the silver runes on his coat. His grey trousers disappeared inside polished black boots which, as was Thorin's preference, were sporting silver toe claps. His proud bearing made Bilbo's stomach flutter a little, and to think it was only due to his skipping breakfast wouldn't be entirely true.

A flash of golden appeared over Thorin's shoulder as Fili ran past his uncle and into Kili. "Brother!" he cried out. "You are going to be so jealous!"

"What? Got a new scar that I wasn't aware of?" the younger dwarf said gruffly.

Fili rolled his eyes, his hand instinctively coming up to scratch at the angry red mark across his right eye. "Don't be daft! Today Uncle had to meet with an envoy of elves from Mirkwood, you know how they took it upon themselves to clean the forest free of spiders, right?"

Kili nodded, his face scrunched up as he tried to figure out what cause he had to be jealous, and Bilbo chanced a glance at Thorin. Meeting with the elves, eh? Well, the King didn't look like he was ready to smash walls or tear his face apart, so either the meeting had gone exceedingly well, or Thorin's opinion of elves was improving. Bilbo settled on the first option.

"What of it?" Kili shrugged.

"Well they came to give Uncle a quick report, and my presence wasn't mandatory so I was made to wait in the corridor with the messenger's escort."

"Again, what of it?" Kili's arms crossed over his chest, a sign that he was starting to feel annoyed by his brother beating around the bush.

But Fili just grinned and wriggled his eyebrows. "A very _female _escort, brother."

"Oh. Oh!" Kili's eyes widened and he gave Fili a swift swat to the head. "And of course, you didn't call me! You selfish whelp, was it so hard to send a raven? I would have come, I would-" From the corner of his eye, the young dwarf saw Thorin's eyebrow raise in suspicion, and his voice wavered some. "I would have… helped you suffer through the dreadful ordeal of being alone with those creatures. To think that you waited for Uncle on your own, I am so sorry!"

"And let us all thank Mahal that you are a warrior, and not a minstrel, dear nephew," Thorin said. His thin lips were pressed together, but Bilbo could feel a smile tugging at them underneath. "You would not convince a single soul with your stories."

Thorin was indeed in a very good mood if he could talk about Kili's attraction to elves with his mouth devoid of any foam, and even joke about it.

Still, Kili didn't push his luck and gave his uncle an uncertain smile before he tugged Fili in front of Bifur and Bofur's stall and began to whisper in his brother's ear. About the elf maidens or the leather dragon, Bilbo wasn't sure.

"I trust you have been well, Bilbo."

The hobbit turned his attention back to Thorin and smiled. "Yes, yes. Ori and I have been making great progress in the library. Fortunately, Smaug cared little for books, and a nice amount of them is in perfect state, if a bit dusty. Some of them are quite old too, your grandfather had a fine taste for literature."

"Yes, he was quite passionate when it came to history, and lineages." Thorin's eyes quickly flicked to his nephews over Bilbo's shoulder, but just as swiftly returned to the hobbit. "I haven't seen you in a while. I wish to apologize."

Bilbo scoffed. "Nonsense, Thorin! You have a kingdom to rebuild, you can't spend all your time prattling away with a hobbit about silly things, what would your people think?" His own heart ached as the words left his mouth, but as bitter as they sounded, there was a ring of truth to them.

Thorin's eyes dropped a little and focused somewhere by Bilbo's elbow. The King muttered something about not finding Bilbo silly at all, slipping a hand in a side pocket to finger something. The former burglar was instantly reminded of his old magic ring and absently patted his own pocket; the small item was there, to his relief.

When Thorin met his eyes once more, Bilbo could swear there was a glint of hesitation in the blue orbs.

"Bilbo, may I speak with you?" he asked, and his voice was definitely lower than before.

"We are speaking, unless I am mistaken," Bilbo pointed out with a smile.

"I mean, in private?"

"Oh. Very well then, lead on, Your Highness. But if you make me late for the feast and there is no roasted boar left, you will be very sorry indeed," the smaller creature warned to cover his surprise and excitement.

Thorin snorted but made no comment as he turned around and began walking alongside Bilbo, reining in his strides to match the hobbit's shorter ones. Bilbo happily trotted along, enjoying the King's presence and he almost giggled at the prospect of an opportunity to be alone with the dwarf, even for a few minutes. Maybe he could sneak in a touch or two; Thorin's hair looked particularly soft today, and Bilbo wondered how it would feel to run his fingers through the silken strands.

Just as they had done with Kili, Dwarves and Men gave Thorin deep bows as he passed them, but thankfully nobody tried to clap Bilbo's back or crush his hand, and for that he was grateful. Thorin smiled and nodded at everyone, slipping in a kind word in Westron or Khuzdul when somebody congratulated him.

Bilbo didn't fight the fond smile that came to his lips when a little girl, no more than four year-old by Men's standards, shyly walked up to the King and offered him a handful of daisies. The flowers were a bit crushed, and the stems slightly crooked – the child must have carried them all the way from Dale – but Thorin got down to a knee and thanked the little lady with a bright smile, tucking the flowers in his belt in plain sight. The little girl shuffled her feet for a second or two before she gathered her courage and pecked Thorin's cheek.

Before the dwarf or anyone could react, the young once turned on her heels and disappeared among the crowd, her cheeks a deep red.

"Daddy!" her little voice shouted almost immediately from somewhere. "I kissed the King! His beard's itchy!"

Thorin chuckled as he regained his feet and Bilbo was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hug the dwarf into oblivion. Thorin's soul was healing; slowly, one day at a time, the King was getting rid of his past fears and his painful memories, aiming to build a better future for himself and his kin. He would smile more openly, and even laugh sometimes, though those occasions were rarer.

Last time had been during a feast, when Dwalin and Bofur had Bombur drink so much ale that they convinced him he was a fairy. But there hadn't been any enchanting grace when the stout dwarf launched himself from the table, flapping his arms as though they were delicate wings, before Dori was squashed by an enormous amount of non-fairy meat. Bombur's "flight" and Dori's squeaks had sent Thorin into fits of laughter that had left him breathless and clutching at Bilbo for support.

Good times. Good times.

Thorin led Bilbo out of the crowd and they soon reached the arch that separated the Western Hall from a string of corridors. They were about to cross it when someone shouted from behind.

"Cousin!"

Both dwarf and hobbit turned around to see none other than Dáin II Ironfoot making his way over to them, closely followed by a smaller dwarf who ought to be a guard. While not as regally dressed as Thorin, the dwarf was a fine sight, all decked out in dark red silk and golden clasps in his hair. Large golden beads shaped his long black beard into intricate braids that marked him as the Lord of the Iron Hills.

Thorin owed his younger cousin a great amount of things. For starters, if it had been for Dáin and his five hundred combat-trained warriors, the outcome of the Battle of Five Armies may have been dramatically different. Then, while Thorin recovered from his injuries, Dáin had acted as a Steward and nursed the fragile flame that was Erebor into a full-sized fire, until Thorin was well enough to turn it into a volcano of activities. Dáin had watched over the first phases of rebuilding, making sure to stay on good terms with the Men from Dale and already sending out ravens for potential trade partners all over Rhovanion.

As Thorin slowly recovered, his kingly duties were gradually handed to him. As soon as he could sit up, Dáin had reports and scrolls brought to him for appraisal. The day the healers allowed Thorin to walk a few hours a day with the help of a cane, Dáin took his cousin on a small patrol in the Halls and showed him the new Throne Room. And immediately after Thorin threw his cane to the fire, Dáin was the one to deposit the stone crown on his brow and insert the Arkenstone over the seat from which the King Under the Mountain would rule.

"Dáin," Thorin acknowledged with a nod, smiling at his younger cousin. "How are you faring?"

"I am well, thank you," the black-haired dwarf answered. "I hope the same can be said about you. Oh, and you as well, Master Baggins," he added, bowing low when he noticed the hobbit's presence.

Bilbo smiled and thanked Dáin. The Lord of the Iron Hills was one of those dwarves who carried a strong bearing about them, utterly charming and bordering on irresistible. One of those dwarves would could talk you into doing everything they wanted, if they set to the task, and it was impossible to refuse them anything.

"Do you need anything?" Thorin asked politely, then frowned. "You are not already leaving for the Iron Hills, are you?"

"No, no, cousin, I am not leaving just yet," the burly dwarf chuckled. "I merely wished to introduce you to my niece, Dihla, daughter of Girá, who has just arrived from the Iron Hills."

Dáin stepped aside as the dwarf that Bilbo had initially thought to be a guard walked forth and bowed before Thorin. If it weren't for the beard that was a little too soft and the – rather generous, not that Bilbo was staring or anything - bosom that adorned her front, the maiden could easily pass as a male dwarf. Her golden hair was pulled up into a bun, with only a few braids running behind her ears and onto her shoulders. Her forest green eyes were looking at Thorin with the same kind of reverence Bilbo had seen in other subjects, but her smile… her smile was maybe a little too sweet, and caused the hobbit's innards to lurch unpleasantly. He frowned; he hadn't even thought of the feast, why would his stomach protest?

Quite oddly, Thorin's bright charming smile did nothing to settle Bilbo's discomfort. If anything, it made it worse.

"Welcome to Erebor, my lady," the King said as he took Dihla's hand and kissed its back. "I hope you find it to your liking."

Dihla's smile widened – if such a thing was even possible – as Thorin released her hand. "Oh, I already do, Your Highness," she answered. "I already do."

"You must be tired after such a journey, I trust arrangements have been made and you have been given sleeping quarters?" Thorin asked, but his although his eyes were still on Dihla, his question was directed at Dáin.

"Not yet, we were planning to take care of it right after the feast. Speaking of which," Dáin said and there was a glint in those brown eyes, a signal that Ironfoot's magic was about to be unleashed, "I thought we might attend together, the three of us. What do you think?"

"Yes, why not," Thorin agreed, a little too quickly perhaps. "I shall meet you in the Main Hall, then."

"Ah… but noon is upon us," Dáin drawled, his features turning concerned suddenly. "Shouldn't you be the first to arrive, to greet the guests?"

"I am sure nobody will hold it against me if I am but a few minutes late," Thorin assured. Already, he was taking steps to stand beside Bilbo. "Why don't you go ahead? I will be there shortly."

"I am sure you will, however," at this point Dáin reached out and grasped Thorin's forearm, a warm smile blooming on his lips, "don't you hunger for their calls? Do you remember, when we stood side to side, on the day of your coronation? Don't you want to hear them shout our names out loud again?"

"Dáin, I don't-"

"_Oakenshield! Ironfoot! Oakenshield!"_ Dáin mimicked.

"Very well," Thorin said a little louder to cover his cousin's enthusiasm. "I am coming with you. Give me a few seconds."

"Of course, cousin. Master Baggins." Apparently satisfied, Dáin and his niece walked away with a last nod in the hobbit's direction.

Thorin turned to face Bilbo and his expression was one of regret. "I am sorry," he said mournfully. "I dragged you away from the market only to abandon you here…"

"It's perfectly fine, Thorin," Bilbo smiled as he patted the dwarf's arm, hoping that he sounded confident enough and not as disappointed as he felt. "I was hungry anyway. I am sure this matter can wait until the feast is finished, am I right?"

Thorin frowned and opened his mouth but no sound came out, and his jaw eventually snapped shut. His hand was once more in his pocket, and it was clear from Bilbo's point of view that he was twisting something in his fingers. The hobbit had done it so many times with his old ring that there was no hiding it from him.

Finally Thorin's frown disappeared and he sighed. "You are right," he relented. "This matter can wait. I will see you at the feast then?"

"I am a hobbit, where else should I be?" Bilbo scoffed.

With a fond smile, the tall dwarf wrapped the hobbit in a warm hug and buried his nose in the honeyed curls. Bilbo grinned and embraced Thorin as well, taking in the scent of the King. It was a strange mix of leather oil and granite, quite unusual but not exactly unpleasant. The warmth seeping through the heavy blue coat felt wonderful as well, and Bilbo almost whined when Thorin stepped back and it was taken away.

Blue met hazel when their gazes mingled, and with a last parting squeeze of Bilbo's shoulders, Thorin was off to join Dáin and Dihla.

The moment they were out of sight, Bilbo's shoulders sagged miserably and he let out a disgruntled sigh. There. Another chance to spend some time with Thorin, not matter how little, gone to the winds. It seemed like he was doomed to never sort out what exactly was going on between the two of them. And the way Thorin had smiled at Dihla…

Bilbo shuddered and willed the memory away as he made his way to the market, his step visibly heavier than it was moments before in Thorin's company. He would fetch the brothers and drag them to the feast, yes, that sounded like a good plan.

Maybe filling his stomach would ward off some of the emptiness he felt inside his chest. But somehow, he doubted it.


	2. The Feast

**CHAPTER 1**

**The Feast**

Bilbo was not short-tempered nor was he easily irritated. But when Kili tried to snatch another sausage from his plate, the threatening growl slipped through his gritted teeth with surprising ease.

"Keep your paws to yourself," he hissed, pulling his plate away and out of the hungry dwarf's reach. "The buffet is right over there, get your own food."

"But it's so far away, and I'm famished," Kili complained, scooting closer on the bench to Bilbo.

"Back when you were gnawing on roots in Mirkwood, I reckon you were famished. I'm certain you are in no such state now." Bilbo shooed the dark-haired dwarf away, only to feel the weight of his plate lighten suddenly. He whirled around just in time to see Fili cramming an egg in his mouth, and then try to look innocent. "Fili! You are supposed to be the wiser one!"

"So I have been told," the golden-haired dwarf mouthed around the food, taking a seat on the other side of Bilbo. "But I brought something to trade."

Fili slid two tankards across the table and wrapped his hands around a third one, that he brought to his lips with gusto. Kili followed suit, but Bilbo took a tentative sip and was relieved to taste only ale. Last time he had drunk a tankard of dwarven mead, he had suffered from a massive headache for two days straight and the company's mocking for two weeks. He had all but holed himself up in the library from dawn to dusk the following week, hoping to escape the dwarves' jibes, and had had to face a very angry Thorin one evening. The King, apparently, had received news that Bilbo was missing and was in the process of tearing the mountain apart to find him.

Bilbo liked to think of it as romantic. Too bad that Thorin's snarls had scared him out of his hobbit skin, ruining the moment.

The former burglar took advantage of the brothers' mouths being currently occupied by their tankards of ale to sweep his eyes over the Main Hall. Pretty much as everything had been since Thorin's coronation, the feast was a grand affair; bigger than any he had known back in the Shire, including Bilbo's mother's coming of age party which, according to her siblings, had been the talk of Hobbiton for months.

In the back, closest to the kitchens, a large table took up most of the northern wall, laden with enough food to feed the entire Took family for a week – a hobbit week, and that meant seven meals a day. Roast boar, chicken and deer kept the smoked salmon and potatoes company, scattered over the large expanse of wood along with whole cheeses and golden pies. Ale flowed from enormous barrels near the table, and the three dwarves who had been unfortunate enough to be responsible for filling tankards were a bit overwhelmed. Not to mention soaked to the bone.

The moment a dish was finished, another swiftly took up the vacated spot. From poultry to rabbit via lamb stem, a plethora of Erebor's reawakening hunting grounds' assets was offered to the guests. Unsurprisingly, there was a dramatic lack of green food, but this was a dwarven feast. While Bilbo could convince Bombur to cook carrots from time to time, he hadn't expected any effort to be made for such a grand and definitely dwarven occasion. It didn't really matter, anyway; the hobbit was quite happy with his plate of sausages, eggs and bread.

When it wasn't being plundered by two meddlesome brothers, that is.

The same small band of musicians that had been playing in the market was now filling the Hall with a slow yet hearty tune, to accompany the feast without being a bother to conversations. And since most of those conversations took place amongst dwarves, Bilbo had a hard time hearing the music, let alone appreciate it.

The hobbit was considering getting up to fill his plate once more – thanks to Kili, he had only had one bite of sausage – when Bofur sat across from him with a cheerful grin and a plate piled high with stew and roast potatoes. "Durin's beard, Bombur once again outdid himself!" the toy maker exclaimed, sweeping his arms in a gesture meant to engulf the whole room. "Look at that! I've never seen so much food at the same time!"

"You forget Bilbo's pantry, back in Bag End," Fili chuckled as he sipped at his ale.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Now, you are just exaggerating," he mumbled. The entire content of his pantry had been wolfed down in the course of one single evening, by twelve dwarves and a wizard. Hardly the same as the feast they were currently enjoying.

_Enjoying _might be a bit too optimistic a word, at least for Bilbo. No matter how hard he tried not to, the hobbit found his eyes wandering across the room every five minutes or so in search of a certain King Under the Mountain. Each time he finally spotted Thorin, the dwarf's face was supporting a warm smile. But each time, it was directed at Dihla, niece of Dáin, and Bilbo felt a stinging sensation in his stomach. He would tear his eyes away and swear to just leave Thorin alone, that whoever the King spoke with was his own business, only to do the exact same thing minutes later.

To distract his mind, at least for a moment, Bilbo turned to Bofur who had tucked in his meal. "So how was business, at the market?" he asked, small talk being the only way he had found to shake the sight of Dihla's hand on Thorin's forearm from his thoughts. "I trust you had a pleasant morning?"

"Oh, aye! I wasn't expecting to see so many young lads and lasses, though," Bofur answered after a gulp of ale. "No dwarflings, of course, only children of Men. And from what I saw, I'll have to craft at least a thousand leather dragons before convoys start arriving from Ered Luin if I don't want to run out!"

"And where is Bifur? Don't tell me he skipped the feast to get started on those dragons?"

"No, he stayed with the little ones," Bofur said with a small smile. "Bifur… ever since he lost the ability to talk properly, he started developing a very special link with children. They are curious about the axe in his head, they are not put off when they don't understand what he says, overall they accept him the way he is much more than we ever will."

"What do you mean?" Fili asked with a slight frown. "We never rejected Bifur."

"I didn't mean that, lad," the toy maker corrected. "We adults always take it easy on Bifur, we never put any strain on him. Bombur and I… well, I'm ashamed to say that we still pity Bifur on some level. But kids? Kids are not afraid to be blunt, and I think that's what Bifur needs. Less tact and more honesty."

Fili nodded slowly and dropped his eyes to his ale. This was true, Bilbo thought, everyone had at least once laid eyes on Bifur and felt sorry for the unfortunate dwarf. The hobbit himself, to his greatest shame, confessed that he had avoided the dwarf on some occasions, at the beginning of their long quest to reclaim Erebor. Language barrier put aside, Bilbo had felt uneasy around Bifur and could often be found squirming when they happened to sit next to one another. The end of their journey had made things better and seeing Bifur bury himself in his craft had proved Bilbo that the dwarf was not an empty shell, and was perfectly able to function properly. It was ridiculous, since the hobbit had seen Bifur fight just as well as the next dwarf, but it had taken a batch of carefully carved horses for Bilbo to see him in a whole new light.

He wordlessly accepted another tankard when it was pushed into his hands and took a good sip, if only to wash away his embarrassment for the way he had acted towards Bifur. He made a mental note to spend more time with the dwarf and take an interest in his trade – dwarves, he had learnt, were very fond of their crafts and were highly pleased when someone asked about them. He had found out about this fact very early on, when he had asked Bombur about his spectacular seasoning one evening, somewhere in the Lone-Lands. He hadn't expected the large dwarf to puff up and boast for an hour, but that's what happened.

A shame, really, that Thorin didn't have a particular craft that defined him, other than being the rightful heir of Durin. And Bilbo wasn't sure you could compliment someone on that.

Again, his thoughts drifted to the King, and his eyes unconsciously followed. It was fortunate that he had no more ale in his mouth when he spotted his target, for Bofur would have probably been copiously sprayed.

Thorin was laughing… with Dihla and two new females.

The new additions were dressed in finery and had beautiful, long red hair all braided and riddled with golden clasps. If the light dusting on their chins was any indication, they were probably considerably younger than Dihla. They were bolder too – or just more reckless – for they stood far too close to Thorin. But while the King usually didn't take well to people invading his personal space without his consent, Thorin didn't look like he minded the slightest bit.

Something black and dangerous rumbled low in Bilbo's belly. It had taken him weeks, _weeks_, for the King to finally acknowledge his very presence, and even longer to be allowed to sit less than two feet away from Thorin. What in Durin's name – and Bilbo only appealed to dwarven oaths when he was really upset – gave those three the _right _to stand so close to Thorin without so much as a warning glare?

And why did that insufferable dwarf look so happy about it?

The beast that was growling in Bilbo's tummy deflated and curled up in a whimpering ball. The hobbit snatched Kili's tankard, ignoring the archer's protests as he drowned his groan in a large gulp of ale. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could forget Thorin altogether for the rest of the feast, but then Kili spoke up.

"I heard a small convoy from the Iron Hills arrived this morning."

"Aye," Bofur nodded, finishing off the last of his potatoes in a hearty mouthful. "Mostly lasses, wives and such. No dwarflings though, not yet." The black-haired dwarf turned around to search the room, and grinned. "I see most of them already rounded up on our good King. Some just don't have any time to lose, I guess."

A question was burning the back of Bilbo's throat, and as though he tried his very best to reign them in, words fled his mouth.

"What do you mean?" To his credit, he had managed to sound casual and just a bit curious.

Bofur turned back to his friends and winked. "Well, I reckon a good deal of pretty lasses would not mind adding "Queen Under the Mountain" to their names, if you see what I mean."

Bilbo swallowed bitterly. It was worse than he thought. "So… Thorin might ask for one of these dwarrowdams' hand in marriage soon?" he asked anxiously, his tongue tasting ash in his mouth.

The three dwarves around him burst out laughing and Kili slapped Bilbo's back, sending the hobbit's nose into his half-full tankard. He blinked and gave his companions a puzzled look. He had no idea he had said such a funny thing…

Bofur was the first to recover and he stifled his chuckles long enough to speak. "I keep forgetting that you are not entirely accustomed to dwarven culture, Bilbo. No, you see, marriage won't happen any time soon."

"Why? Has Thorin taken an oath to remain single, or something?" Bilbo asked, and he wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or even more aggravated.

"Of course not, lad. But Dwarves are very… let's say we are very picky when it comes to choosing a mate." Bofur cleared his throat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We love once, only once, and we spend our whole life looking for this special person, our One. Lucky are those who find their Ones before their lives are over."

Bilbo stared hard at the hatted dwarf. He knew his mouth was open, but he was too dumbstruck to care. "You mean most of you don't find your… Ones, is it?"

"Aye."

"But then… you live your whole life all on your own, without anyone by your side?"

"Some exceptions can be made for young ones. Meaningless romps, if they are not performed on a regular basis, are not heavily frowned upon." At this, Bofur winked at Fili, who suddenly found the bottom of his empty tankard worthy of his highest attention. "But after a dwarf comes of age, traditions must be observed. Especially among royalty."

"What kind of traditions?" Bilbo found himself asking, curious in spite of everything. This was one aspect of dwarven culture that he had yet to discover. He hadn't encountered any book in the library on this specific topic.

"Well, if a dwarf does wishes to court his One, or even if his intended is not his One, for that matter-"

"It can happen, but it's fortunately very rare," Fili piped in, and Kili nodded with a slight shudder.

"- several steps are to be respected. Dwarven courting is known for being a very long and tedious business. Why, I believe Gloin spent two years courting his wife before he married her."

"T-two years?" Bilbo sputtered. That was amazingly long, even by dwarven standards. In the Shire, he had seen complete strangers become a wedded couple in the course of a single week!

Bofur nodded. "Aye, but she was just playing hard to get, our ladies tend to do that." Both Fili and Kili snickered on either side of Bilbo. "Female dwarves are so few and far between that they are usually the ones to pick whoever they want to marry, if they wish to marry that is. Males just have to bend to their choices and bear with it. After all, happy lasses are more likely to produce strong dwarflings. We can't afford to ignore that."

Bilbo's attention returned to Thorin, who was speaking with Dihla. Could it be that the King had no choice but to marry and have heirs? _I thought Fili and Kili were his heirs… _

"Now where was I? Ah yes, courting." Bofur finished off his ale and gratefully handed the empty tankard over when Kili offered to refill it. "When dwarves want to make their affections known, they ask their intended for permission to court them. Then, there are several steps to be followed until finally the suitor asks for the intended's hand in marriage, which is either granted or denied."

"What are those steps?" Bilbo inquired, tearing his eyes from Thorin.

"Oh, there are no specific rules about it, just vague guidelines. Gift-giving, shows of strength, crafting abilities, and so on," Bofur said with a gesture of his hand. "I wouldn't want to bore you. They are just trials to test the bond between both parties and ensure that the decision to marry, if it is made at all, is well thought out and not brash."

"And females tend to drag it out, just to see how far males are willing to go," Fili snorted, and Bilbo bit his lip to refrain his urge to ask the young dwarf if he spoke from past experience.

Bofur chuckled softly. "Some of them do, right. But some others are willing to rush through the steps, if they are certain that they have found their One. I'm sure your mother told you how she came to marry your father?"

The blond dwarf nodded and Bilbo tilted his head to the side curiously. He had never heard anyone in the company talk about Fili and Kili's father, not even the brothers themselves. He was suddenly very eager to hear a story and, at the same time, learn a bit more about Thorin's nephews.

"What happened?" the hobbit asked, supporting his head on one hand.

"Well, first you have to know that lady Dís was but a child when Smaug attacked Erebor, with only ten winters to speak for. She became Thorin's most prized treasure on the road, and he struggled to take care of her and his brother, Frerin, who was a little older than Dís but not by much. He spent years protecting her, ensuring she was safe and dispatching anyone who wished to harm her. So, a few years after they settled down in the Blue Mountains, seeing courting braids in his sister's hair was quite a shock for poor Thorin. He hadn't even realized Dís had come of age."

Bilbo smiled a bit at this; he could almost see the look of bewilderment on Thorin's face as he rounded a corner and discovered his sister. "He didn't take it well, did he?"

"Not a bit. See, nobody can blame him, really. His brother Frerin had died a few years before at the Battle of Azanulbizar, and he was still feeling the loss keenly, I guess. He was afraid to lose his sister as well, and didn't take well to some ruffian courting her."

"I believe Uncle called him an ill-mannered idiot, or so Mother told me," Fili corrected.

"Aye, that sounds like him. The two of them couldn't cross paths without hissing at one another, and more often than not they exchanged more than words. Why, one day I heard someone scream in the mines and I thought a miner was stuck or somethin'. Turns out it was only Thorin and Víli brawling it out in one of the wagons. I was afraid to get caught in if I tried to separate them, but I didn't have to in the end. Dís arrived and punched the living daylights out of them, yelling at them in front of everyone and all. From that day on, Thorin and Víli were civil to one another, and your parents married two months later, with Thorin's half-hearted blessin'."

That was a more acceptable length of time to be courting, Bilbo thought. By hobbit standards, at any rate. "Did it get better after they married? Thorin's behavior, I mean," he added.

"Not right away. But our King softened when Fili arrived, and by the time Kili was born to this world he fully accepted Víli as part of the family."

Bilbo turned his head towards Fili. "I would very much like to meet your father."

But the smile that the golden-haired dwarf offered him was laced with sadness. "I am afraid you won't have the occasion. Hobbits have no access to the Halls of Mahal."

"Whatever do you… Oh." As realization settled in, Bilbo felt his shoulders drop. He had a knack for being unaware of the thin ice he was treading on, and often found himself soaked and chilled to the bones. His eyes flicked from Fili to his mug; he itched to ask what had happened to Víli, but he knew this was probably prying and it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Fili, however, seemed to understand the unspoken question and chose to answer it. "He was slain in battle three years after Kili was born. Ambushed by orcs. Uncle carried his body back to the Blue Mountains where he was buried."

Bilbo nodded and didn't ask for further details if the young one wasn't willing to give them. He wanted to ask if Dís had found another mate, but he refrained. Deep down, he knew the answer. Losing your One… Bilbo didn't even want to dwell on this. He had come quite close to losing his mind, back when Thorin lied in a bloody mess at Azog's feet, and he didn't know what fate would have befallen him had the King died of his wounds.

The mere thought of it sent a shiver down the hobbit's spine, and he pushed it away.

Kili's return with the ale proved to be the best distraction of all.

"I'll tell you, those ladies are completely bonkers," the dark-haired dwarf exclaimed as he deposited a whole new set of tankards on the table, with enough force to send a bit of foam flying. "They are asking Uncle Thorin questions that are way too personal and invasive!"

"Do tell," Fili nudged, a malicious smirk on his lips. He had shaken his previous sadness away with remarkable ease, and his brother was none the wiser. It amazed Bilbo, how the blond swordman always put up a brave front whenever his younger sibling was around.

"Questions about our quest, where we went, what Smaug was like, and if Uncle was injured." Kili sat down heavily on Bilbo's right with an exasperated sigh. "Durin's beard, one of them actually asked if he would be willing to show her the scars!"

"Sounds like Uncle is having a great time," Fili chuckled, his eyes travelling to Thorin. What he saw only increased his mirth. "Look, his left hand is twitching. I thought this was a tic he only associated with elves."

Bilbo reluctantly glanced at Thorin, unwilling to believe the dwarf was not enjoying the female attention he was lathered with. But sure enough, he caught the hint of despair concealed by the blue orbs when the King's eyes flicked his way, and the charming smile faltered for a second. Which, nevertheless, was all it took for Bilbo to understand that Thorin was not particularly happy with his predicament.

"Looks like he could use a bit of rescuing," Fili said casually.

Bilbo let out a noncommittal hum, and a few seconds lapsed by before he realized that his companions had fallen silent… and were staring at him quite pointedly.

"What? What are you… Oh no. No, no, no. Don't look at me like this, I-I can't, I mean I won't…" the hobbit stammered, feeling his cheeks heat up almost immediately. When his poor attempt at refusal failed, he let out a pained groan. "Why me?"

"Because you are, out of the four of us, the bravest male," Fili grinned.

"And by far!" Kili added with a mischievous smirk. "You riddled a dragon! What could three helpless dwarrowdams possibly do to you?"

Bilbo bit back a comment about how those three were taller than he was and, given what he knew about Dwarves, hardly helpless. He would not be able to talk them out of this, he was certain, but if he was completely honest with himself, tearing Thorin away from the females didn't sound like an unpleasant task.

The hobbit finished his tankard – his third one now, and maybe that was the reason why he worked up the nerve to get up – and started to make his way over to the King and his admirers. He was vaguely aware of Kili cheering him on and being silenced by his brother's elbow to the ribs; he willed his eyes to remain on Thorin, and Thorin only.

Bilbo wriggled in-between dwarves and men, taking extra care not to shove anyone. The last thing he needed was an offended guest to add to the list; he was pretty sure his arms would be quite full by the end of the feast, what with the three dwarrowdams he was about to upset.

It wasn't long before he was within hearing range and the King's voice reached his ears. It was deep and low, as per usual, but Bilbo detected a dash of something that suspiciously sounded like discomfort.

"No, I don't know if he intends to stay, the topic hasn't come up yet."

The hobbit frowned and almost stopped to listen in, but he shook his head and decided that it would be incredibly rude and uncalled for. So he set to another very rude and uncalled for task: cutting in the middle of a conversation.

"Excuse me, ladies, I hate to interrupt," Bilbo said as casually as he could, "but I need to borrow the King for a few moments. A matter of high importance has come up, I am sure you can understand." The hobbit turned away from the trio and he could _feel _their glares burning holes into his back. He smiled up at Thorin and grabbed his thick forearm, tugging him away before one of the dwarrowdams could protest. "This way Your Highness, if you please."

Bilbo led Thorin away from the banquet and, consequently, from the throngs of people. He only released the dwarf's sleeve when they were almost at the arch leading away from the Main Hall and into the Entrance Hall. The hobbit turned around and was amused by Thorin's slightly lopsided crown and mussed up hair. He hadn't meant to manhandle the dwarf; in fact, he was pretty sure he was incapable of such a feat. Thorin must have let himself be dragged around willingly.

The King straightened and his eyes met Bilbo's. "So, what is this matter of high importance you spoke about?" he asked.

Bilbo's slight small disappeared; had he mistaken the call for help in Thorin's gaze for something else? "You didn't really believe that, did you?" he inquired softly, some nervousness slipping into his voice. "I just… I mean, Fili said you were probably uncomfortable and I w-wanted to help, is all."

Honestly, the frown on Thorin's face was enough to drain all ale from Bilbo's blood and reduce him to the small hobbit that he was. He had forgotten how it felt to be on the receiving end of that dark stare, though he didn't feel the urge to squirm as he would have when he first met Thorin.

Then a smile bloomed on the bearded face and Bilbo understood that he had fallen prey to the dwarf's special sense of humor. "And your help is much appreciated," Thorin said with a nod. "I was beginning to think I would spend the whole feast talking and not eating anything."

"I take it the conversation wasn't to your liking?" Bilbo asked, now relieved that he hadn't done anything foolish. Like break another dwarven rule, or something. He wouldn't put it past the brothers to talk him into doing such a thing, if only for a laugh.

"Not exactly," Thorin answered, finally reaching up to adjust his crown. "But I had forgotten all about dwarrowdams' legendary curiosity. I have been away from my dear sister for too long, I'm afraid."

Dwarf and hobbit made their way back to where Fili and Kili were seated, with Bilbo in the lead. Upon arrival he noticed that Bofur was gone – probably off to reunite with Bifur and their toys – and that two untouched servings of beef stew were waiting across from the King's nephews. Who were both wearing far too innocent grins.

_Trust them to only act childishly when I am alone with them, _Bilbo thought, shaking his head. Nonetheless the hobbit sat in front of Fili, fighting a smile as he felt Thorin settling on the bench next to him. However short-lived, moments when the dwarf was close were to be enjoyed.

Thorin thanked his nephews and quickly tucked in the large bowl, heaving spoonful upon spoonful with enough restraint to look kingly while doing it, but fast enough that Bilbo doubted he even tasted the food before swallowing it. The hobbit chuckled and dug into his own serving more slowly, taking his time to chew and savor the juicy meat. Bombur and his cooks had done wonders, once again.

Bilbo had only eaten a few bites when Thorin reached out for the bread to wipe the last of the pepper sauce from his bowl. The hobbit tried to ignore the heat in his cheek as the dwarf's muscular thigh pressed up against his own in the process, and raised his bowl to his lips in an attempt to hide his slightly flushed face.

And if his knee was still touching Thorin's when the dwarf wiped his bowl clean, well, he wasn't about to complain.

The four of them chatted for the better part of the next hour, mostly about news from the Blue Mountains and how they ought to ensure safety for their kin as they travelled through Middle-Earth. Fili and Kili were eager to see their mother again, just as Bombur and Gloin were probably dying to be reunited with their families. But they still had a few weeks left to wait.

Thankfully, only a handful of people stopped by to speak to Thorin, and they were only well-wishers who meant to offer a few kind words to thank the King before they left the feast. Consequently, Thorin was relaxed and allowed his barriers to come down a little, revealing a pleasant facet of his character that had first made itself known after Smaug was killed.

The dwarf would smile and chuckle, bumping his shoulder against Bilbo's when the hobbit made a snide comment about his head ever becoming too big for his crown. By the end of the feast, most men had left for Dale and a large portion of dwarves had gone back to work in the depths of Erebor. Bilbo's belly was quite full and the ale had distilled a pleasant buzz in his brain and muscles; he was content to just sit and listen to his three dwarves as they bickered over the best way to hunt deer. The shireling's chin was propped up into his open palm and one of his feet rested on Thorin's heavy boot. He itched to scoot closer and press his side snugly into Thorin's, to bathe in the warmth that he could only vaguely feel emanating from the King.

But of course, it would be highly inappropriate.

"Bilbo," Thorin asked quietly as his nephews squabbled on. "May I speak with you?"

"Of course," the hobbit answered after shaking out of his reverie. "What do you want?"

The King chanced another glance at Fili and Kili, who were all but ignoring them. "It is related to what I meant to tell you earlier, before we were interrupted…" Thorin shifted a bit on the bench and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. Bilbo willed his heart to stop hammering his ribcage, but it was useless with Thorin's hoarse voice blowing hot breath on his cheek.

"Bilbo, I have long since wished to ask if you would-"

Bilbo's ears perked up when music, that had been reduced to a nice background noise when people started leaving, suddenly picked up and filled the room with a rousing, hearty rhythm. Thorin's surprised jerk threw Bilbo's foot off of his boot and the King tensed up at the commotion. His mind was still one of a warrior, it was only normal for his body to respond accordingly, but Bilbo still mourned the interruption and the loss of contact.

Thorin's searching eyes narrowed on Dáin, who was speaking with one of the musicians. It was pretty obvious that the Lord of the Iron Hills was to blame for the change of tune.

"I am going to have a word with my cousin," the dwarf said as he got to his feet. "The feast is over and there is no reason to keep the band from any other obligation they might have." Then he shot Bilbo a somewhat apologetic look. "I shall be back shortly."

Bilbo nodded absently and watched as Thorin walked away. The King was apologizing a lot on this fine day, and he wondered what could possibly be the cause. It wasn't like him to act this way, especially since he couldn't be held responsible for the things that kept driving him away from Bilbo's side.

There was a snort nearby, and when Bilbo turned his head, he caught sight of two mirthful, almost smug young dwarves. "What?" he asked warily.

"You were staring," Kili pointed out.

"I was not," Bilbo lied immediately, refusing to sound sheepish.

"You were," Fili countered, nodding. "What could Uncle Thorin's bum possibly possess that has you so enthralled?"

"I was _not _staring," the hobbit repeated, feeling the tip of his ears grow far too hot. "And certainly not at Thorin's… backside, you disrespectful ruffians."

"Oh, that stung," Kili mocked with a snicker. "You can fool the entire population of Erebor, Master Baggins, but you can't fool us."

"We know Uncle and you have grown very close. And it's alright," Fili added quickly when he saw their hobbit recoil as if burned, "you have nothing to be scared of. We are perfectly fine with it, as long as Uncle Thorin and you are both happy."

"There is absolutely nothing going on betwixt your uncle and me," Bilbo grumbled, and for once he was sad to admit that he was telling the truth. He was also very glad for the loud music, which conveniently covered their conversation and kept it from reaching others' ears.

Kili rolled his eyes. "Right, so you hobbits just kiss people out of the blue as a pastime?"

Bilbo furrowed his brow at the dwarf's words. He didn't remember kissing Thorin with Kili as a witness before. In fact, he didn't remember kissing Thorin at all, not since that first time in the tent, after the Battle of Five Armies. And Kili couldn't possibly know about this kiss; even though he and his brother were indeed in the same tent, they had been soundly asleep when it occurred. Unless…

"You scoundrel," Bilbo gasped, "you _saw _that? I thought you were asleep!"

"Well, we didn't want to bother you at the time, the two of you looked a bit busy," Fili explained without any shame.

Bilbo did a double take. "You too? And you never said anything!"

"Of course not, who do you take us for? Some kind of sick perverts?" Kili snorted and held his nose high, as if Bilbo had just insulted his whole family.

"What he means to say is, it was not our intention to spy on you," Fili said, and the smile he graced Bilbo with was genuine. "And we are happy for the two of you. You deserve one another, after everything you have been through."

Bilbo sighed and ran a hand down his face. "As much as I appreciate your support, boys, I was telling the truth. There is nothing going on between Thorin and I. I… I guess we are both too busy to think about such things. I mean, he just reclaimed Erebor and became King, being involved with someone is certainly last on his to-do list."

"Now, don't be ridiculous, when it comes to matters of the heart I am sure there's always time for… Oh my." Fili's voice trailed off and his eyes grew wide as he spotted something over Bilbo's shoulder. Kili wore an expression to match his brother's, with the addition of a gaping mouth.

Puzzled, Bilbo turned around on the bench and froze as he was met with a sight he hadn't even thought was possible.

Thorin Oakenshield was dancing. And not alone, too.

The charming smile was back on the dwarf's bearded face as he led his partner across an empty section of the Main Hall. Thorin was, to his credit, an outstanding dancer and it was the first time that Bilbo could bear witness to his skills. The King moved with effortless grace and still managed to make it look like there was an infinite amount of power hidden in his gestures.

Something dark and wicked curled inside Bilbo's chest when he spotted the female in his King's arms. He recognized her as Dihla, Dáin's niece, although it was hard to tell with that huge grin distorting her face. One of her hands was resting on Thorin's shoulder, which could almost be seen as acceptable, but the other one was weaved into the dwarf's. If Bilbo squinted hard enough, he could almost swear that her thumb was moving inside Thorin's palm, stroking the soft flesh there. And her hips digging into Thorin's as the music sped up…

It was too much. Bombur's cooking was going to greet the world once more if he kept watching.

"Turns out you were right, Fili," Bilbo said bitterly. "I guess there's always time, if you really want it."

He didn't even realize he was fleeing until he was halfway into the Entrance Hall, Fili and Kili calling after him. He couldn't bear to stand and watch as Thorin was slowly snatched away from him and he could do nothing to stop it. He was practically blind as he raced through the passageways, his large feet fortunately knowing their way around the maze of Erebor's corridors.

And no, the stinging in his eyes had nothing to do with the knife stabbing through his heart. Absolutely not.


	3. The Library

**CHAPTER 2**

**The Library**

The library was considerably less crowded than the rest of Erebor, even on a daily basis, and with the feast it was almost deserted. But Bilbo had to wait for dusk and the early hours of evening to be completely alone with the thousands of books and scrolls.

He lit two more candles when the lanterns on the wall failed to provide enough light for him to read comfortably. Nothing like a good book to escape reality and dive into a whole new, pain-free universe. Even when said book's title was _Durin the Deathless: an illustrated biography_ and its content very vague, but Bilbo hadn't managed to find a lot of books on dwarven history that had been translated into Common Speech. Since he was not in the mood to attempt reading Khuzdul, he would have to make do.

Bilbo shifted in his seat and leaned over the elegant mahogany desk he had set the heavy tome upon to turn a page. On the left page there was an elaborate drawing of a mountain, not unlike the one he was currently living in, but that one only had a single, very high and narrow opening whereas Erebor's gates were large and copiously carved. The hobbit ran the pad of a finger over the word _Khazad-dûm _written under the picture; Balin already made mention of that place, but for his life he couldn't remember why…

Oh, right. Khazad-dûm, or Moria for most people. The underground network once built by dwarves in the Misty Mountains, now abandoned. He remembered Balin's tales about the fortress' wealth and glory, before a terrible monster was awakened in the depths of the mines and wreaked havoc in the mountain, killing thousands and forcing the dwarves away from Khazad-dûm, giving orcs and goblins leave to invade the abandoned kingdom. Centuries later, after Smaug took Erebor as his own, Thrór attempted to reclaim Moria and thus provoked the Battle of Azanulbizar – which, Bilbo remembered, had cost him his life. It was also after that battle that Thorin earned his epithet "Oakenshield".

And there. He was thinking about Thorin again.

Bilbo slammed the book shut with a sigh and leaned his elbows on the desk, burying his head in his hands. He was just looking for a moment of respite, a few hours without the King on his mind, was it too much to ask? He guessed so, since he couldn't stop thinking about the dwarf, even though a cold hand gripped his insides each and every time he did. He hadn't indulged in his urge to cry; he was a respectable hobbit, no matter what half of Hobbiton could say, and as such he wouldn't weep over something so petty.

But oh, he wished to. He hadn't felt this hurt since the last time he had been dangled over the edge of a mountain by his throat, and he had cried that day, cried until his lungs were on fire and his throat felt like sandpaper. It had been raw and brutal, just like Thorin's behavior that day, but nothing like what he felt as he sat on his stool over the desk. He felt… stupid. Naïve. Weak, that he allowed this to happen to him. He had let his hopes flare and only had himself to blame now that they had been crushed.

At that moment more than ever, Bilbo missed Bag End. His quiet, solitary life with his books and his armchair, the market and his weekly walk to Bywater to catch a few fishes… He had believed that he could have a life in Erebor, but that line of thought had only been motivated by Thorin's support and the King's affection. If Bilbo was denied this… he wasn't sure he could live in a mountain where Thorin was involved with someone else. He loved the company, especially Fili and Kili, and he would be as devastated as the brothers if he were to part ways with them. But he just wouldn't be strong enough.

He was just a hobbit. A weak Baggins. A fool of a Took.

Bilbo crossed his arms on the desk and snuggled into them, fighting hard to keep his tears at bay. With his feet dangling over the floor and his hair all mussed up, he guessed he had to be a sore sight. But there was nobody around, so it mattered not what he looked like. He let his mind wander to the green hills and blue skies of the Shire, enjoying the silence that came with being entirely alone in a large room. The soft glow of candlelight lulled his tormented mind into a peaceful state; in fact, he could almost take a nap, and grab a bite from the kitchens before retiring to his rooms. Nobody would notice, if he just dozed off for a while…

Bilbo almost fell from his stool when the door of the library flung open with a loud noise. He winced when he inadvertently bit his tongue and the taste of copper filled his mouth. Eyes closed, his hand flew to his lips to still the pain and stifle a curse; who in Eru's name…

"I thought I might find you here."

Bilbo's eyes snapped open at the familiar voice and was instantly reminded that he had chosen a desk that was facing the doors. Anyone walking in couldn't miss him, as he hadn't had the presence of mind to slip his magic ring on.

Which would have been quite useful, and kept him away from Thorin's eyes.

The King was quite a sight. Dark strands were glued to his forehead and his neck due to the thin sheet of sweat that was coating his skin. His cheeks were a bit red and his breathing was coming out in little pants, as though he had just run a mile or two. His clothing as well seemed to have suffered from an unknown hand; the blue tunic was wrinkled and a bit distorted, held in place by a lopsided belt.

As pleasant a sight as Thorin was, Bilbo loathed thinking about the reason behind the dwarf's state, and the hands that had probably ruffled him up…

"As you can see, I am here," Bilbo replied evenly, "though I wonder why you would seek me out."

This pulled an abashed look from Thorin, and the dwarf stared at Bilbo with something akin to anxiety. "I told you I wished to speak with you after the feast was over," Thorin said, his voice low and almost tentative. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't," the hobbit answered dryly. "But the feast ended hours ago and I had matters to attend to." A lie, a big, Smaug-sized lie. But he couldn't very well admit that he had fled the Main Hall to hole himself up in the library, could he?

"Such as sleeping in the library? Because that is what I saw you doing when I walked in," the dwarf pointed out, but there was no bite in the words. If anything, Thorin was amused. "Interesting duties, if you ask me."

"Well, I haven't asked you, and for your information I was taking a break," Bilbo snapped. He didn't know why he was being so harsh; he felt angered, and venting it out on Thorin seemed like a nice idea. "Now, do you intend to stand here all evening or will you speak, so I can return to my activities?"

Thorin's face betrayed his complete surprise at the acerbic tone in the hobbit's voice. He stood silently for a few moments before he decided to approach Bilbo, much like someone would near a wounded warg. "What has you in such a foul mood, Bilbo?" he asked warily, stepping close until he could lay his hands on the desk.

"I am not in a foul mood," the hobbit said through gritted teeth, making a show of opening his book again as if he had every intention to ignore the King and get back to his reading. Although he knew perfectly well that he wouldn't be able to focus with Thorin within reaching range.

"Have I done something to upset you?" The dwarf leaned in to lay his hands flat on the desk, silently asking Bilbo to look up at him. But when his attempt failed, and his dear friend's eyes remained stuck on the old pages, he sighed. "I have, then. Would you care to tell me?"

Bilbo shrugged, absently turning one page with his forefinger – he hadn't read a single word, but he had a façade to keep up. "I don't know, you seem awfully busy today, I wouldn't want to be a nuisance," he mumbled. "My burdens are mine to bear."

A frown marred Thorin's face at those words. "You are not a nuisance, and it is unlike you to keep to yourself when something is amiss." The dwarf splayed his fingers over the ancient pages, hindering Bilbo's reading. When he spoke again, his voice was considerably softer. "Bilbo, please look at me."

The hobbit hesitated for a second but finally relented and raised his eyes to meet Thorin's gaze. Which only served to prove that avoiding those blue eyes had been a very, very clever idea indeed; at the odd mix of puzzlement and concern reflected in the cobalt pools, Bilbo felt his anger deflate and wither in his chest. He hated that the dwarf had this kind of power over him, but he couldn't bear to see Thorin tormented, especially when he was to blame.

"I haven't seen much of you today, not as much as I expected, is all," Bilbo admitted reluctantly, suddenly feeling like a petulant child, complaining about something so petty. "I guess I'm a bit frustrated."

Thorin's features relaxed as puzzlement gave way to surprise then understanding. Concern, though, never deserted the King's gaze. "I have no excuse for this," he said, his shoulders sagging a little. "I intended to spend more time with you today, there is something of great importance that I want to discuss with you."

"So you keep telling me," Bilbo replied, and if his tone wasn't harsh anymore, it had retained a bitter edge.

"I was caught up," Thorin argued, reaching out to snatch Bilbo's hand when the hobbit batted his fingers away to get back to reading. "But I have found you. I will speak with you now, if you are still willing to listen."

Bilbo squirmed a bit on his stool. He knew Thorin was waiting for an answer, and for a moment he was tempted to say no, just to spite the King and give him a taste of his own medicine. But then the dwarf's broad thumb started stroking up and down his wrist and his resolve fled him as quickly as Fili fled apples.

"I am listening," he said finally. "Let me find you a stool, if we are going to-"

"Yóna, don't be ridiculous, you are far too young for him!"

Thorin and Bilbo jumped at the shrill, distinctly female voice coming from the hall. They were dumbstruck for a few seconds but it quickly dawned on them just who was walking outside of the library. Thorin let out a colorful string of curses in Khuzdul under his breath – or at least, Bilbo guessed he was cursing – and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"They never give up," he muttered. "Mahal, give me strength…"

"Thorin, you are King Under the Mountain," Bilbo said quietly but with a tinge of annoyance. "If you really want them to stop badgering you, you only have to tell them so."

"You don't understand, they are females! Even though I am King, it would be highly impolite to just-"

"Shut up, Kóna, and stop following me! Go back to Father," another voice answered the first, and the approaching footsteps drained color from Thorin's face.

"They are near," he whispered to nobody in particular, and his eyes began frantically searching the room around him.

Bilbo blinked, taken aback by the dwarf's reaction. "Are you… looking for a place to hide?" he asked, bewildered. "How very unkingly!"

"Be quiet!" Thorin hissed. "I can't go back, if I have to live through one more dance, I will collapse in front of everyone, and this hardly strikes me as very 'kingly' either." He kept turning on the spot, racking the shelves and walls for a hiding spot.

Bilbo knew that it would all be in vain; Thorin couldn't have chosen a worse room to hide in. There was no way the King could fit into one of the shelves, and he certainly wouldn't make it to the other side of the room in time to hide behind one of the statues there.

Time was running out. And Thorin was sure to get caught, it was simply impossible to walk through those doors without spotting the both of them. Bilbo began to prepare himself to see his dwarf snatched away for the third time that day, and disappointment filled his chest. There was no way around it. Unless…

A foolish idea came to his mind and he voiced it before he thought it through. "Get under the desk."

Thorin's head snapped his way; his eyes were a bit wild. "What?"

"Hide under my desk," he repeated quickly. "They won't look under there while I sit here."

"My brain may be lacking blood. I could swear you just suggested I huddle under your desk."

"Fine," Bilbo snapped, holding his chin high and not taking extra care to keep his voice low. "Have it your way. I wish you a nice evening then, Your Highness."

There was a change in rhythm in the corridor as footsteps faltered and came to a halt. "I heard voices over there… Look the door is open," one of the females said.

With a hastily-barked Khuzdul word, Thorin quickly strode around the desk and dropped on all fours, pushing Bilbo's stool to the side with his shoulder to crawl under the mahogany structure. Once he was curled into a tight ball underneath, he looked up at Bilbo and mouthed the words "Never tell anyone about this" before reaching for the stool and tugging it back in place.

Bilbo almost gasped when his bare feet came to rest against a solid chest, but no amount of squirming could ease the pressure. Desks hadn't been designed to conceal more than large booted feet, and Thorin barely fit under there, any movement making the elegant wood creak and squeak.

"Be still," Bilbo hissed when something, probably Thorin's crown, bumped against the back of the desk. He pressed his soles a bit harder into the dwarf's chest to quiet his grumbling when the door to the library was opened in full.

The hobbit did his very best to appear innocent as the two dwarrowdams walked in. He turned a page and looked for all the world as if he was reading peacefully in the candlelight, and not maintaining the bulk of a tall dwarf under his desk with his feet.

Bilbo feigned surprise as the two females – Yóna and Kóna, he reckoned, although he didn't know who was who – approached him, their eyes searching the whole room. "Good evening, ladies," he bid quietly, trying to sound casually polite. "Is there something I might help you with?"

Two pairs of golden eyes narrowed down on him. They were sisters, Bilbo concluded, so alike in features that they could be twins, if such a thing wasn't so rare for Dwarves. He would have gladly marvelled at the specks of green adorning the golden pupils, if said pupils weren't filled with such scorn.

"So, you are the halfling," one of them said, her gaze taking in Bilbo's appearance.

"Assuming this mountain hosts no other hobbit, yes, I am," Bilbo answered with a nod. "We met at the feast, though briefly."

"Indeed. Is it considered proper in hobbits' customs to cut in a conversation? Because we-"

"We haven't been introduced yet," the other dwarrowdam interrupted, flashing Bilbo a bright – and very fake – smile. "I am Kóna and this is Yóna, daughters of Gína. We arrived from the Iron Hills this morning. You must be Master Baggins."

The hobbit nodded. Kóna had to be the older, wiser one, always keeping her younger sibling under control. He was reminded of Fili and Kili, except that there was nothing disdainful or faked whenever he had a talk with the brothers. "Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins of Bag End, at your service," he drawled. He had mastered customary dwarven greetings a long time ago, and the words flowed easily.

"King Thorin couldn't stop talking about you at the feast," Kóna said with that same honeyed smile. Bilbo wondered if sugar was about to drip from her lips at one point. "I understand you faced the great Smaug on your own? You must be very brave indeed, for such a small creature, and our King is right to heap praise upon you."

"Did he, now?" Bilbo fought a smug grin as he felt Thorin shift uneasily under the desk. "Well, I had no idea Thorin held me in such high regards. I am a simple hobbit, after all."

"How dare you call him by his name?" the younger one, Yóna, seethed. She batted her sister's hand away and walked closer to the desk, a fierce fire burning low in her golden eyes. "This is disrespectful!"

If she thought she could impress him, she was sorely mistaken. Bilbo had been on the receiving end of Thorin's death glare so many times that he had become immune to this kind of threat. "King Thorin and I have faced death often enough for me to earn the right to call him whatever I want," he replied evenly, never tearing his gaze away from Yóna's. "And the same goes for him."

A bold move, but the warm hand that came up to hold his ankle told him it was alright.

"Which is perfectly understandable," Kóna piped in, laying her hands on her sibling's shoulders to give them a squeeze – a hard warning squeeze, judging by Yóna's wince. "Links betwixt comrades in arms are often stronger than those uniting Kings to their subjects. Speaking of which… have you seen King Thorin?"

"Today? Not much, no, a short while at the feast perhaps," Bilbo mused, sitting back on his stool to stretch his back. He groaned softly at the loud 'pop' and decided that next time he holed up in the library, he would make sure to get a decent seat. "Why? Has he gone missing?"

"No, no, we just wished to see him before retiring to our rooms," Kóna said sweetly. Even as she talked, her eyes were scanning the room. "We thought we heard voices coming from the… library, apparently. We just wanted to bide him a good night."

"No, I'm alone in here," Bilbo replied, scratching his right ear to cover Thorin's snort and relishing in the startled gasp the dwarf emitted when toes butted against his stomach. "Everyone has gone to supper. Or bed, for that matter, I'm afraid I lost track of time at some point."

Yóna snorted. "Then who were you talking to, halfling?"

Bilbo allowed a frown to cross his features. Before, he had had no problem with people calling him that, but months of being a respectable 'Master Baggins' whom dwarves bowed to made the term 'Halfling' sound like a wretched insult. And if Thorin's low growl was any indication, the King thought so as well.

"Nobody, actually," he answered, his patience wearing thin. "I often speak to myself, it helps me sort my thoughts and clear my mind."

Yóna snickered, deepening Bilbo's frown. "You can't tell time inside a mountain, you walk without any boots on and now you speak to yourself? Is there no end to hobbits' oddities?" Her older sister didn't add any comment, nor did she try to stop her sibling this time. It seemed that since Bilbo didn't know where Thorin was, he wasn't worthy of attention anymore. "How did you really get rid of Smaug? You peeved him to death?"

"If you must know," Bilbo said, his voice loud enough to cover the racket of Thorin's crown hitting the underside of the desk, "I had no hand in Smaug's death, it was Bard, the Lord of Dale, who killed the dragon. Now, if you'll excuse me ladies, I have matters to attend to before I retire to bed. Rest assured that I'll inform _Thorin _of your wish to bide him a good night if our paths were to cross." He gave them a firm nod. "Have a pleasant night, ladies."

Kóna retreated to the door, slightly disappointed, but Yóna was still staring at Bilbo. "You had no hand in Smaug's death," she whispered, her golden eyes unbelieving. "And you are not a warrior. Why were you on this quest?"

"It's a long story, and I find that I have neither the time nor intention to tell it now."

The dwarrowdams' features crunched up in thought, but before long her eyes widened. "Oh. I see. How could I miss it, you look so soft and pliant… You were a means of entertainment, nothing more."

"Excuse me?" Thorin's puzzlement mirrored Bilbo's, for the massive chest had ceased moving against the hobbit's feet as the King held his breath.

"It was a long journey, and males have need, I know." A crude smirk stretched Yóna's lips as she slowly walked to where her sister was silently waiting for her. "I can understand how choosing someone from another race with different customs could work. Pretty clever, actually."

It eventually dawned on Bilbo just what the young female was talking about. He only had a few seconds to brace himself when Thorin's mind caught up as well and the dwarf started trashing around. Bilbo contained the King as best as he could, sticking his furry feet anywhere and pushing against the bulk that threatened to escape from under the desk. He felt Thorin's wiry beard scratch his soles and, ouch, was that an edge of teeth on his toes?

_She's almost gone, she's almost gone_, he repeated over and over in his head like a mantra, praying that he could hold Thorin back long enough for those two dwarrowdams to go away.

"_Leave_," he growled out, shaking both from anger and Thorin's squirming. "Leave now, or Mahal help me, I don't know what will happen." This much was true, at least, since it wasn't in his power to trap Thorin forever. Or another minute, for that matter.

The insufferable female scoffed and, to Bilbo's utter relief, exited the library with her sister in tow. He waited a few seconds until their footsteps faded before he removed his feet from Thorin's body and moved his stool.

The King tumbled out from under the desk into a rather undignified heap on the floor. Bilbo expected him to scramble to his feet and dust himself off, but Thorin just looked up at him with surprise and fury in his eyes. "She… I never thought… How dare she speak of you as if you were a… a _whore_ or…"

"Thorin, breathe," Bilbo soothed, sliding from his stool to kneel beside the dwarf. "Who cares what she says? We know the real story, it doesn't affect me, and it shouldn't affect you either."

The dwarf calmed down somewhat and sat up to turn big, bewildered blue eyes to Bilbo. "How can you be so composed? Your reputation has just been violated, how can you tolerate it?"

Bilbo chuckled bitterly and plucked one of Thorin's braids out of his face. "Gossip is a common thing in the Shire, and let's say I reap more than I sow in that field. I'm used to it." The hobbit plopped down on the ground to sit beside his dwarf friend, his back propped up against the desk. "Besides, I'm a guest here, it wouldn't do to go and chew other guests out, now would it?"

"You are not a common guest, Bilbo," Thorin growled, running a hand down his face. "I need to have words with the two of them. I will not allow such tales about you to be carted around Erebor, this simply will not do."

"Uh uh!" Bilbo tutted as Thorin made to get up, putting a hand on the dwarf's chest. "Absolutely not! It is very unlikely that any tale begins to spread at such a late hour, so you can talk to them tomorrow. In the meantime, you, Master Dwarf, are going to tell me what you wished to discuss. And _right now_, before another Eru-forsaken event snatches you away from me once more!"

It had ended in some kind of desperate squeak, and if there was no whirlwind of emotions in Bilbo's brain, the hobbit would have certainly taken some time to feel shamed by it. As it was, he couldn't care less.

Thorin gazed at him for some time until he finally nodded. "Very well. Could we at least get up from the floor and sit properly?"

"No," Bilbo snapped. "If we do, something will happen and drive you away from here. Speak up, my ears work just as fine here as they would were I seated on a chair." Moreover, anyone walking through the door – unlikely as it sounded, at such an hour – wouldn't see the two of them sitting behind the desk, and it was fine by Bilbo.

"Fair enough." Thorin twisted on the floor until he was sitting in front of the hobbit. The King pulled his crown off of his head and, depositing it carefully on Bilbo's stool, ran a hand through his dark hair. If Bilbo didn't know better, he could have sworn the thick fingers were shaking a bit. "First, I wish to apologize. I meant to come to you sooner about this matter, but time kept slipping through my fingers and… I wanted to do this properly."

Bilbo watched on curiously as Thorin reached into his pocket and retrieved something. Unfortunately, the dwarf kept whatever it was clutched in his fist, out of the hobbit's sight.

"Bilbo," Thorin spoke again, his voice a bit hoarse but his eyes bore deep into Bilbo's. "I might have doubted you when I met you, but I soon realized the errors of my ways. You are not helpless nor useless, and while your heart is soft and gentle, I have never met someone so brave and fearless. I was blinded at first and couldn't appreciate your worth for what it was, but you managed to open my eyes. You gave me a torch to ward off darkness and a hand so I would not be on my own. In my darkest moments, you were there to help me through the day. You reminded me of a time when I knew who I was."

Thorin took a shaky breath. Bilbo was vaguely aware of the pumping of blood in his ears and the beating of his poor hobbit heart, but all he could focus on was a pair of dark blue eyes shining in the candlelight. He wanted to say something, anything, but was too afraid to break the fragile spell cast over the library.

"As long as there's breath left in my body, I shall never stray from your side. If you will have me."

At long last, Thorin's hand opened to reveal two matching silver beads. The ornaments were carefully carved and although they weren't close enough to be sure, Bilbo could make out tiny shapes that looked like flowers, or flames.

"Will you allow me to court you, Bilbo Baggins, my One?"

Bilbo was almost sure time stopped for a few blessed moments. Later on, he would admit that staring at Thorin open-mouthed like a fish out of water had not been very courteous, but at the moment the hobbit wasn't sure there was something else he could do.

Thorin must have mistaken his silence for rejection, for doubt clouded the blue eyes and he drew his hand back a little. "Bilbo?" he rasped out, worry darkening his features.

This shook the small burglar from his trance. "Yes," he mumbled. "Yes." Louder this time, and with a smile tugging at his lips. "Yes!" A chuckle escaped Bilbo as he raised himself on his knees and grabbed Thorin's free hand in both of his. "Yes, Thorin!"

Thorin smiled and leaned forward, wrapping his thick arms around Bilbo's smaller frame for a heartfelt hug. The hobbit buried his nose into the King's silver-streaked hair; he only noticed he was crying when the salty drops slid into his laughing mouth. He knew he was hugging Thorin's neck a bit too hard for it to be comfortable, if the raspy beard digging into his own neck was any indication, but he didn't care. He wanted the dwarf as close as could be.

After a while, though, Bilbo dropped a heavy kiss on Thorin's head and pulled back to look at his King's face. He hadn't expected wide eyes to stare back at him in surprise. "What?" he asked blearily with a somewhat watery smile.

"You are crying," Thorin stated matter-of-factly, his hand reaching up to cup Bilbo's cheek. "Are you upset?"

Bilbo couldn't help it; he burst out laughing again. "No, you silly dwarf!" he gasped out. "You have just made me the happiest hobbit in the world!"

"But why are you crying then?"

Thorin's dubious look sent Bilbo in a fresh fit of giggles and he buried his tear-streaked face into the dwarf's shoulder, giving up on his explanation. After a while Thorin gave up as well, and Bilbo was enveloped in a tender hug, a bearded cheek resting on his honeyed curls. He basked in the warmth of this newfound fortress and hummed appreciatively.

But Bilbo suddenly remembered something and pulled back. He twisted Thorin's fist open to take a peek at the silver beads. "Are those… for me?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Thorin breathed. "I crafted them for you."

Bilbo carefully plucked the small items from the dwarf's large palm and brought them to his eyes. What he saw robbed his lungs of air and left him dumbstruck.

On the first bead, some kind of thorny vines were intertwined and, here and there, roses bloomed along the surface. A dragon was curled around the second bead, its fierce mouth open to unleash a stream of flames and its claws firmly buried inside plain silver. Both ornaments were marvels of details and skill, down to every single thorn on the vines, and every single scale on the dragon. They were beyond words.

"They are perfect," Bilbo whispered, his eyes feasting on the abundance of tiny details.

Thorin's chest puffed up a bit. He looked quite smug indeed. "Do they please you then?"

"More than you could think!" Bilbo flashed the dwarf a beaming smile, squeezing the beads in a fist over his heart. "Thank you! But you didn't have to make something so beautiful to court me, you know."

"Of course I did," Thorin chuckled. "How will I hold your courting braids in place without beads?"

At the word 'courting', what had just occurred came crashing down on Bilbo. Courting. Thorin wished to court him. He hoped fervently that he hadn't fallen asleep on his book and this wasn't just a wicked dream. He would wake up a very disgruntled hobbit, were it the case.

Thorin nuzzled his cheek to obtain his attention and held out his hand, palm up, in a silent request for the beads to be handed back. "Allow me?"

Bilbo happily complied and gave back the beads, sitting still as Thorin's skilled fingers began weaving short strands of dark blond hair into an intricate plait near the hobbit's pointed ear. The dwarf worked quickly and efficiently, doing the same to the other side of Bilbo's head, and ending the two new braids with the silver beads. The metal was a cool spot on Bilbo's jaw; maybe he ought to let his hair grow.

"There," Thorin said when he was done. "You are remarkably good-looking."

"Thanks," Bilbo grinned, but in the next second he frowned. "I guess I have to braid your hair as well. I don't have any bead to give you though, is it alright if I use two of yours until I find some?"

A laugh rumbled low in Thorin's chest and he smiled at his hobbit. "You are my intended, Bilbo, you aren't required to provide me with beads. But yes, you are right, I'll have you braid my hair as well."

The King unwound two small braids from his still recovering mane to free two black beads that he deposited in Bilbo's outstretched hand. But he took some time to observe them and roll them between his fingers before he let them go. The ornaments were not foreign to Bilbo; he had gathered them in Thranduil's throne room, that dreadful day when Thorin's hair had been cut. He had wanted to ask about them, the following night, when he had braided the dwarf's hair next to the campfire, but he had refrained out of unease.

Bilbo took a deep breath and plucked his courage. "You remember, when I first braided your hair?" he asked softly. Thorin gave him a quizzical look but nodded slowly. "I was dying to ask about your beads, and why they seemed so important to you…" His voice trailed off on purpose, leaving it up to Thorin to decide whether or not he would grant his unspoken plea.

The dwarf hesitated and for a short minute Bilbo wondered if he hadn't gone too far; they had only been courting, after all, for the better part of the last ten minutes. He feared he had already ruined whatever trust Thorin was willing to give him.

But then Thorin nodded. "Very well. Those two jet beads you are holding were made in a village of Men named Galtrev, in Dunland, a few years after Smaug came. They belonged to Frerin, my younger brother, and he wore them proudly until the day he was sent to join Mahal in his Great Halls." Absently, Thorin's fingers stroked one black bead, his eyes a bit unfocused as he relived a memory or another. "His body… it was badly burnt, unrecognizable, unmovable even. In spite of my efforts, I wasn't able to bring him back and give him a proper burial. But I did save four beads; two, I gave to my sister, and the others I wear so that Frerin's memory never fades away."

The explanation weighted on Bilbo's already swollen heart and brought fresh tears to his eyes. Of course, he knew what end Frerin had met, but to hear it from Thorin's mouth, and that the King was willing to hand his dear brother's beads over to Bilbo for him to braid his hair was too much emotion for one single evening.

"Thorin…" he rasped out.

"And I can only imagine," Thorin spoke again, his eyes now staring into Bilbo's, "how pleased he would be to see his beads weaved into my courting braids by my One's hands. To be, in some way, a part of my happiness."

Bilbo gave his dwarf a watery smile and, guided by Thorin's words, slowly worked dark tendrils into two intricate plaits, on either side of his suitor's head, securing them with the gleaming beads. When he was done, the hobbit cupped the bearded face he had come to care so much for, delighting in the feel of prickly hair under his palms.

The hobbit noticed a small scratch on the King's cheek and caressed it, a sheepish look on his face. "I'm sorry I kicked you earlier," he said softly. "You were making an awful lot of noise… I was afraid they were going to hear you, then spread tales about the King hiding under desks between a hobbit's legs. Who knows what your people would think of that?"

"Very good thinking, Master Baggins," Thorin growled gently, his hand coming up to cup the back of Bilbo's head and tug him close to his chest. "What goes on between your hobbit legs is nobody's business but ours."

A delicious shiver ran down Bilbo's spine at the dwarf's words and he snuggled into the midnight blue tunic to hide his grin and his reddening cheeks. Oh, he liked this new Thorin, he liked him very much. "Still," he mumbled, "I'm sorry for sticking my feet in your face. This was uncalled for."

"Think nothing of it, Bilbo."

There were a few peaceful moments that Bilbo spent enjoying just being held, his cheek pressed into a hard chest as warm hands stroked up and down his back. He might even find himself able to purr like a drowsy cat, lost as he was in the moment. But then…

"Speaking of your feet, do you ever wash them? They have the foulest taste…"

Thorin chuckled when Bilbo gave his arm an offended swat, and just pulled the scoffing hobbit even closer. And the hobbit's nasty mutterings about Dwarves and their endless rudeness only served to make him laugh out loud.


	4. Bad News

**CHAPTER 3**

**Bad News**

Thorin sat back in his throne and groaned. "Are you quite sure about this?"

The raven perched on the armrest held his beak high and gave the King what could have only been the equivalent of a haughty look. "_I am not in the habit of disclosing false messages, Your Highness. I shall tell you again: the Blue Mountains are missing most of their dwarven warriors. Last winter was particularly harsh and food was very rare. Added to the presence of scattered orcs and goblins in Eriador, most of those who had any fighting abilities left to make a living as mercenaries. Thorin's Halls are hardly protected anymore, or at least wouldn't be should orcs try and claim the Mountains as their own." _

"Could it happen?" Thorin growled, the mere idea of his people being slaughtered by those foul beasts enough for a fist to clench with rage.

"_The odds of orcs and goblins coming together for such an attack are very low, Majesty. Small groups have been sighted in the Lone-Lands, from ten to fifteen individuals, and those are no threat to your people in the Blue Mountains. But were they to encounter them on the road…" _

"I see your point." Thorin hoisted himself up and walked down the few steps at the foot of his throne, reaching the floor where he began pacing restlessly. He couldn't think properly while sitting still. "Why wasn't I informed of this last week? A raven came from Ered Luin and only told me that they would be ready to travel in a month's time. There was no mention of this."

"_Liräk is young and has yet to master patience, Your Highness. If you wish to seek compensation for my son's recklessness, I shall endorse whatever punishment you see fit." _The bird stood proud, his chest puffed out and gazing over at the dwarf with determination.

Thorin's scowl softened and he shook his head. "No, Toräk, this won't be necessary." He had seen enough pain and discomfort to last him a lifetime, and he wasn't very fond of dealing it around when it wasn't absolutely needed. "I am glad you came to me in the end. These are very bad news."

Extremely bad news, indeed. A convoy the size of the one that was going to leave the Blue Mountains would never cross the Lone-Lands unseen, but avoiding those plains either by travelling through Evendim or Eregion would lengthen the journey considerably – impossibly so. Still, leaving so many females, dwarflings and elders wander into Orc territory without proper protection…

"How many fighters do they have?" Thorin asked the raven.

"_Only three guards remain, and of course there is your sister, Lady Dís,_" Toräk replied, a little more relaxed now that he was sure he was not going to end up on a spit. "_Others are blacksmiths, tanners or tinkers. They are not trained for battle, but claim that they would be able to handle their own should the need arise._"

Thorin groaned again. He would have been satisfied with eight, maybe ten combat-trained guards, for more wasn't required to deal with a group of fifteen orcs. But things were grimmer than even his pessimistic mind thought. "Can those who left be called back?"

"_We have no knowledge of their whereabouts. News reached Eriador that Smaug was defeated, but most refuse to believe it and don't want to near the Misty Mountains. We can always hope for some of them to have returned to the Blue Mountains by the time the convoy leaves, but that is a risk." _

"A risk that I am most unwilling to take." Thorin sighed. "Thank you, Toräk, you did well. Go and rest, I might need your services in a day or two."

"_As you command, Your Highness._" The great raven bowed low and took flight, leaving the throne room almost noiselessly in a flutter of wind and a ruffle of dark feathers.

Thorin resumed pacing when the bird flew out of his sight. This was infuriating. He could always send word to his sister to wait until those warriors-turned-mercenaries returned to Ered Luin, but he had no idea when, or even if, it was going to happen. He was conscious that such a large convoy shouldn't depart in winter, when days were short and nights were dangerous. But it was June already, and spring was slowly receding; his people couldn't afford to wait all summer for dwarves who had left them to fend for themselves.

What options did that leave him with? Send an escort? He couldn't very well order a pack of dwarves from the Iron Hills to go and take blows for his people, he had done that already; and for all Thorin was a good king, he was still a dwarf. And Dwarves hated to be indebted. Besides, he wasn't sure he could ask such a thing of Dáin after… well, after rejecting his niece.

Not that he had done so in public, or even directly for that matter.

Fili had been the first to notice the courting braids in Bilbo's hair and link them to Thorin's. After a stream of congratulations, the golden-haired prince had run to tell his brother, of course. And thanks to Kili, by the end of the day, everyone in Erebor knew. Bilbo had been a bit annoyed, but Thorin was rather glad; his days were relatively free of female attention ever since, and he was relieved to have no more impromptu dancing or endless talking thrown upon him.

Dáin had, understandably, been caught unawares. He hadn't expected his cousin to court someone who was not a dwarf, let alone a hobbit. But the Lord of the Iron Hills was very fond of Bilbo and to learn that the small burglar was Thorin's One had brought a smile to the dwarf's features. He admitted that Dihla would be disappointed, but promised that he would chastise her were she to try and bother the couple.

So it was safe to assume that Dáin would come to his help if needed, but Thorin was reluctant to burden his cousin any more.

"A copper for your thoughts?"

Thorin stilled at the voice and smiled even before he turned to face Bilbo. A week had passed, and it still brought joy to the King's heart to see the short courting braids in his One's hair, the silver beads dangling from their ends.

He watched as Bilbo neared him. "I think you look magnificent today," he answered.

The hobbit scoffed with a warm smile as he came to stand before Thorin. "Flatter away, Your Highness, but it stills doesn't explain why you weren't there at dinner. Bombur made a special dessert, lemon pie, which according to Fili is your favorite."

Thorin's eyebrows rose in bewilderment. "Is it that late?"

"Almost everyone has gone to bed, and when I didn't find you in your study I thought you had too. And then I thought: would Thorin really retire for bed without wishing me a good night?"

Bilbo's grin was both adorable and enticing. Thorin chuckled and reached out to pull the hobbit close for a warm hug. "I would not dare," he whispered against Bilbo's hair. "I have seen enough bloodshed in my life."

"Thought as much." The hobbit tiptoed to kiss Thorin's bearded cheek.

"As penitence for my actions, I would be honored to accompany you back to your chambers," Thorin offered as he pasted a fake sheepish look on his features.

"I suppose this is reasonable," Bilbo nodded, slipping his hand into Thorin's and already leading the dwarf down the length of the throne room.

The halls were quiet and empty, and only then did Thorin realize that it had to be very late indeed. As they walked, he allowed his shoulder to brush Bilbo's and didn't resist when small fingers were weaved through his own, larger ones and squeezed. They were alone, there was no harm in enjoying a little warmth.

On the way, Thorin told Bilbo about the raven, and the worries that plagued his mind.

"You could send a small group of dwarves and have them wait for the convoy in Bree or something," Bilbo said when Thorin was done talking. "They could see them through the Lone-Lands unscathed."

"I thought about it, but this is my people we are talking about, not Dáin's," Thorin sighed, one hand coming up to scratch at his nape. "Their safety is nobody's responsibility but mine.

"Send a few lads from the company then," the hobbit shrugged, his gaze staring right ahead. "I am sure Gloin and Bombur wouldn't mind joining their families a bit earlier."

Thorin considered the words for a moment and gave a noncommittal nod. "I will think about it and talk to them tomorrow," he promised as they reached Bilbo's chambers. Gently, he unwound his fingers from his One's to clasp smaller shoulders. "Until then, I wish you a restful night, _âzyungel_."

Thorin's head dipped for a chaste kiss. Bilbo's lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of ale and apple, which he had probably had for dinner. The dwarf bit back a low growl of appreciation and settled for nuzzling his nose into Bilbo's instead.

He was about to pull back when he felt small hands tangle themselves in the front of his tunic and yank him forwards none too subtly. Almost immediately his lips crashed onto Bilbo's and his mind went blank for a moment as he was pulled into an insistent yet gentle kiss. Thorin almost didn't notice as the hobbit stepped back until he was trapped between the door to his rooms and the dwarf's sturdy chest, and he had to brace himself against the large wooden panel to avoid crushing the smaller body.

Thorin was only made aware of Bilbo's hands creeping up his front when fingers buried themselves in the hair at the back of his head, tugging him even closer. Wary at first – anyone could come down the hall and see them, after all – Thorin kissed back timidly then with more ease. His hands came down to rest on Bilbo's hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the hobbit's sides as he relaxed into the kiss and let it slowly turn his mind to molten jelly.

When they had to part for air, Thorin gathered Bilbo in his arms and held him close, lowering his head so it rested on his intended's shoulder to take in the scent of grass and fire smoke. He would be content to stay like this forever, with his One's warmth in his arms and his steady breathing against his chest.

"Stay with me tonight?" Bilbo whispered in his ear then, giving the lobe a slight nip.

Thorin involuntarily jerked back, tugging out of Bilbo's arms with a look on his face that he knew bordered on dumbstruck. He shook it off quickly, but not swiftly enough that it went by unnoticed.

"How charming." Thorin's heart dropped at the frown on Bilbo's face.

"Bilbo," he began quickly before the hobbit thought he was being rejected, though it might already be too late. "This is much too soon. Such intimacy is reserved for a later stage of the courtship, when I have proven myself worthy of you."

Bilbo crossed his arms and raised one dubious eyebrow. "Really, proven yourself _worthy _of me? Does the past year count for nothing then?" He shook his head. "Besides, I wasn't going to suggest _that_, you stubborn dwarf. I was just wondering if you'd like to sleep with me. Just sleep, nothing else."

"I am afraid that won't be acceptable either, Bilbo," Thorin said softly, if only to soothe his intended. He hadn't wanted to ruffle the hobbit's feathers, but as a King he couldn't afford to overlook dwarven customs. He hoped that Bilbo understood.

But it didn't look like it. "We have slept next to one another for countless nights on the quest! How is this different?"

"Circumstances were not the same. We were not courting back then, I wasn't even aware that you were my One yet." Thorin reached out and tenderly stroked Bilbo's cheek with the back of his fingers. "You are something that I wish to cherish, a treasure that I would give my life to defend. I will not have people think that I am merely using you, that I think of you so lowly that I would be unwilling to court you properly."

"Well, you may be a little too late," Bilbo mumbled, looking at the floor over his still-crossed arms.

"What do you mean?"

"Your good friend Yóna. I don't know what kind of tales she has been spreading this week but I met Bifur today. You will be pleased to know that I go by the name of Bilbo 'Bed-Warmer' Baggins amongst most dwarves of the Iron Hills."

Bilbo's shoulders were slumped and his eyes refused to meet Thorin's even though the dwarf's hand was still on his cheek. The slightly dejected behavior was quite puzzling to the King, who pushed his anger at hearing such a title tied to his beloved's name away in benefit of a few moments to study Bilbo.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. The hobbit had been upset by the name-calling and had sought him out to receive some sort of comfort. Which he had failed to provide, quite obviously, as he had certainly misread Bilbo's body language from the moment he had entered the throne room. Thorin had been so preoccupied by Toräk's ill news that he had turned a blind eye on his One's mood, choosing instead to dump his worries on the hobbit's small shoulders.

Being the only member of his kin in a dwarven kingdom must be hard, but Thorin figured it wouldn't be too difficult as long as people held Bilbo in high regards and were grateful for the deeds he had accomplished. For the past six months, he had been right: Men and Dwarves alike – even Elves, on rare visits – bowed down to Bilbo and were nothing if not deeply respectful of the shireling. But this was before Yóna's babbling mouth…

"I had no idea," he whispered, rubbing a pointed ear with the rough pad of his thumb.

Bilbo snorted. He had yet to uncross his arms, but the caress upon his ear seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders on some level. "Well, this is not something you would hear from the Council, I expect."

"Indeed." Thorin took a step forward to engulf Bilbo in a tender hug, his arms just holding the smaller frame and barely squeezing. He was relieved when the hobbit nestled into his chest and, as he ran battle-hardened fingers in the short blond locks, an idea struck him. "I may be able to secure one hour or two of free time tomorrow, if I send Fili on mine patrol in my stead," he said softly.

"What of it?" Bilbo mumbled, his voice muffled by the white fur on Thorin's coat.

"Why don't you pack us some food and I join you for lunch outside the gates, mhm?" The dwarf lowered his head to press a kiss to Bilbo's forehead. "It has been some time since our last private meal, and I would enjoy some sunlight."

Well, last time had been in a tent and Thorin had had trouble sitting without busting stitches.

When Bilbo looked up, Thorin was pleased by the enticed glint in his hazelnut eyes. "Just the two of us?" he asked, and if the King didn't know better, he could have sworn the tone was shy.

"Just the two of us," the dwarf nodded.

Bilbo leaned against his suitor fully as all tension seemed to flee his body. "Won't Fili mind?"

"He has accompanied me several times on those patrols, I wish to see how well he fares on his own. He will be King one day, I want him to be familiar with his future responsibilities." When that didn't quite convince Bilbo, Thorin sighed. "I will allow Kili to go with him."

He knew it was the right thing to say when his hobbit finally smiled and returned his hug. "Then I would be very happy to have lunch with you tomorrow. I'll wait for you near the fountain, you know the one with the bear?"

"I had it made, of course I know where it is, halfling," Thorin snorted, softly bumping his forehead against Bilbo's, making the hobbit chuckle. "I shall see you tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow." Bilbo leaned up to capture Thorin's lips in a last, longing kiss. "Good night, dear."

* * *

It was a fine June morning, Bilbo thought as he sat on the edge of the white fountain, his furry feet dangling back and forth as he hummed a tune softly to himself. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, not the faintest whiff of breeze to unsettle his hair as glorious sunlight bathed his face and lifted his spirits.

It was early, he knew. Thorin wouldn't show up for at least half an hour, but it was just as well. A little time alone out of Erebor was always enjoyable, he considered it an opportunity to relax and sort his thoughts. And he had a _lot _to think about, lately.

Courting Thorin was… well, it was not what he had expected it to be. He loved Thorin, of that he had no doubt, and if there was such a thing as the concept of 'Ones' in the Shire, Bilbo was sure Thorin would be his. But he hadn't counted on Dwarven courting to be so… peculiar.

In the Shire, open displays of affection were fairly common, and gestures such as hand-holding and kissing could only bring a smile on the on-watchers' faces. Hobbit couples were often found hugging, or cuddled together for a nap under a tree. There was no shame in that. But here, in Erebor, Bilbo felt like he wasn't even allowed to _look _at Thorin in public for more than ten seconds without it being considered a breach of social etiquette.

One evening at dinner, he had sat with Fili and Kili for a much-needed conversation about the subtleties of dwarven courting. Apparently, public displays of affection were heavily frowned upon, unless you were married or had been courting for a long time. The brothers explained that love was something to be treasured, shared only by the suitor and the intended, and openly showing your love was bound to stir jealousy and envy in other dwarves' hearts. Besides, there was no need to lay claim on someone like this; the courting braids were there to remind everyone that one's heart was taken.

Bilbo learnt that light touches, as long as they were brief and discreet, were tolerated as well as the odd hug. But it was far too early in their courting for kissing; he had learnt it the hard way when he had tried to peck Thorin's cheek – his cheek, for Eru's sake, his _cheek_! – at dinner after a nice compliment on his choice of clothing, and the dwarf had jerked away from his lips. They had been eating with some members of the Company but dwarves from the Iron Hills as well, hence Thorin's reaction, but thankfully nobody had seemed to notice the exchange.

This whole business was a bit ridiculous, as far as Bilbo was concerned. It wasn't as if, as if he was stripping Thorin naked in front of everyone! Was it so bad to show your appreciation to a loved one? A plague on Dwarves and their need for secrecy!

If Bilbo was completely honest with himself, he had to admit he was a bit frustrated. Stolen kisses in a corner and fleeting touches under the table while nobody was looking had his blood running hot, of course, but they were good for young lads in the throes of puppy love. What he felt for Thorin could not be compared to such a fragile fancy; it ran deeper than anything he had ever known, it gave his simple hobbit life a meaning, a purpose.

Thorin was the reason Bilbo was ready to spend the remainder of his days in Erebor, surrounded by Dwarves. As long as he was allowed to tie up some loose ends, of course. He had had all morning to think about the upcoming trip to the Blue Mountains, and how it would conveniently go through the Shire…

"A copper for your thoughts?"

Bilbo's head snapped up at the familiar voice and smiled when he saw blue eyes gazing at him. "What was it? Ah yes, I think you look very handsome today," he replied, trying to remember what had been Thorin's words the night before.

And it was no lie, too. Thorin had abandoned his heavy, fur-lined coat in favor of a blue linen tunic that hugged his upper body quite nicely, if anyone were to ask Bilbo. Black and golden thread weaved intricate patterns into the light fabric that shined when they caught the sunlight. The tunic was tucked inside dark grey trousers and held together by a large, relatively ornament-free black belt.

"I believe the exact word was 'magnificent' but I won't complain." Thorin came to stand directly in front of Bilbo and lightly touched their foreheads together. "Have you been waiting for long?"

"Not at all. Shall we?"

Thorin nodded and picked up the basket with the food, unheeding Bilbo's protest that he could do it and walking away from Erebor's massive gates.

The desolation of Smaug was slowly recovering from decades of ruin by dragon fire. Under the combined efforts of Dwarves and Men, who spent months digging small water channels across the entire plain from the Running River, and thanks to the melting glacier on top of the Lonely Mountain, the vegetation of old was gradually coming back to life. On trees that hadn't been burnt down to their roots, timid green buds were peeking at the world from tortured branches. Some even had tiny leaves to show off as a testimony to their sturdiness. Grass was growing fast and aplenty, much to the ponies' delight, and crops were being actively tended to along the water channels by Men and a few dwarves who seemed to enjoy sunlight more than the rest of their kind.

Bilbo chose a spot on the grass next to a large boulder overlooking the whole plain from the gates of Erebor to Dale, and sat down. He filled his nostrils with the scent of dirt and fresh air, smiling when Thorin sat down next to him close enough for their legs to brush against one another. "Dale is looking very good, have you seen those new roofs?" Bilbo asked, pointing to the bright red tiles that were visible even from afar.

"Yes, I had those tiles made last week, from the clay pit behind Ravenhill," Thorin nodded, already digging in the basket to pull out the food.

"Really? I had no idea."

"Well, if I start telling you about every single decision I make, where is the mystery?" the dwarf smiled as he pulled out a knife from his boot and started slicing bread.

"No, I mean I had no idea you could be so nice."

That comment earned Bilbo a shoulder bump and a snort. "I may not like Men very much, Master Hobbit, but Lord Bard was the one to slay Smaug. And in spite of what I said and did six months ago before we were attacked by orcs, I do not intend to seem ungrateful. He has my recognition, and if I can express my thanks with a few clay tiles, what is keeping me?"

"Don't get all riled up, it was kind of you, just unexpected is all," Bilbo chuckled, accepting a slice of bread and some cheese from Thorin's hands with a nod of thanks. The dwarf had taken to doing small things for Bilbo, from carrying things in his stead to cutting bread for him as he just did. At first, the hobbit had protested that he was not helpless and could take care of himself just fine, thank you. But Thorin had looked so rejected, so _hurt _that Bilbo just let him take care of things as he saw fit and chose to enjoy the small attentions.

"So, have you spoken with the Company, about that trip to Ered Luin?" Bilbo asked around a mouthful of delicious goat cheese.

Thorin reclined against the boulder, bread in hand, and nodded. "I met some of them this morning. As can be expected, Bombur and Gloin volunteered before I even asked them. Bifur is uncertain, but Bofur is willing to go. Ori was there as well, but I didn't ask him."

"Why? Ori is a fine warrior," Bilbo pointed out.

"Ori is missing a hand. Besides, he is the only decent scribe we have here. If I have to send fighters to defend our people against orcs and goblins, Ori won't be my choice." Thorin took a bite and chewed for a while before he resumed talking. "Balin and Oin are too old for such a long trip, after our quest I do not wish to burden their shoulders further. The others I shall see in the afternoon."

"That leaves you with Dwalin, Dori, Nori, Fili and Kili," Bilbo counted as he swallowed the last of his cheese. "What are your thoughts?"

"I didn't want to include my nephews, but leaving Fili in charge for the journey could be a good exercise. And there is a good chance of his brother accompanying him, so that makes two more. Dwalin will say no, I am afraid. As Captain of the Guard he won't go where I do not, yet I will try to convince him by appointing him as Fili's bodyguard. Maybe that will sway him."

Bilbo smiled; months after being crowned King, Thorin still refused to give orders to his friends. He wouldn't go against somebody's will and wouldn't command things without asking first. To the hobbit, it was nothing short of adorable.

"Dori and Nori?"

"I don't know, both are quite busy as Spymaster and Master of Coin," Thorin mused, brushing bread crumbs from his beard with a scowl. "I will ask them but I don't expect them to agree to this trip."

"So that makes at least six dwarves, and nine at most," Bilbo summed up. He sucked in a breath and willed himself to stay still. It wouldn't do if he started squirming as he breached the topic of what had been plaguing his mind all morning. "All great warriors. That's quite the decent escort."

"It would be acceptable, sufficient to protect a convoy such as the one leaving from the Blue Mountains."

"Even more so a single person, I take it?"

Thorin, who had been about to take another bite, halted his movements and his blue eyes closed in on Bilbo, puzzled and a bit wary. "I suppose," he drawled, never looking away from the hobbit. Bilbo fought his urge to gulp and look away. "Why would you ask?"

The son of Belladonna Took felt every inch the Baggins he was as he sat worrying at his lower lip, racking his brain for a good way to start. When he found none, he just sighed. "Listen, Thorin, I-I would like to be part of the journey as well."

Thorin's eyebrows shot up so high that Bilbo feared they would actually disappear in his dark mane. He had never seen the dwarf look so flabbergasted, nor did it ever make him feel so stupid. "You?" the King asked. "But… do not take offense, Bilbo, but you are not really fit to defend my people."

The hobbit couldn't help but snort. "I have half a mind to remind you that I saved your ungrateful backside on a few occasions, but I will concede that I am hardly bodyguard material. No, if I wish to take part in this trip, it is so I can stop in the Shire and take care of some business that I left unattended when I joined you on your quest."

There, it was out. Hadn't been that hard, in fact.

What _was _hard, on the other hand, was Thorin's glare. Hard and unwavering.

"What could you possibly have left to do in the Shire?" the dwarf asked, his voice neutral.

"It may have escaped your memory, but my rushing after you last year was completely unplanned," Bilbo replied, admittedly a bit harshly. "Why, I'm sure the kettle is still on the fire back home! I have to inform my relatives that I am leaving, maybe sell Bag End or hand it over to family…"

"All these things you can do by sending a raven," Thorin pointed out, putting down his slice of bread. Apparently, his appetite was failing him.

Bilbo looked down and began plucking pebbles from the ground to flick them away. If the brewing volcano in Thorin's tone was any indication, this conversation was taking a turn for the worse. "Ravens won't be able to bring me my books and family heirlooms."

"I won't risk your life on the road for a few scrolls and stupid doilies," Thorin snarled.

The words took Bilbo off guard and he froze mid-thought, his eyes involuntarily wide and dumbstruck as he stared at the dwarf. His mouth was open, he knew, but he was unable to produce a single sound, much less form a complete sentence. He was just too shocked.

How could Thorin say this, after everything Bilbo had done to help him win back his own family belongings – for Erebor, as grand and wonderful as it was, was little more than Thorin's inheritance. And was he just that to Thorin, a token that belonged to the dwarf to do as he wished? The mere thought of it filled Bilbo with anger and an edge of betrayal as well.

Thorin probably noticed the change in his intended's features, for his own visibly softened and he reached out to grab a hand that Bilbo was not fast enough to snatch away. "I am sorry, it was not my intention to hurt you," he said gently, cradling the hand that was trying to squirm away. "You have to understand… I came close to losing you too many times already, I would not have us torn apart if I can help it."

"You said the escort will be sufficient to protect the remainder of your people," Bilbo mumbled, refusing to meet Thorin's eyes. "Surely, I wouldn't be in any danger."

"You are far too precious for me to risk it."

"Far too pre… For Eru's sake, Thorin, I am not made of glass!" Bilbo lashed out, tugging his hand free from the dwarf's grasp in one swift movement. "Nor am I a pretty jewel to be locked up and looked at from time to time! Is this how Dwarves court? Am I to never set foot farther than one yard from Erebor's gates in my whole life?"

The small outburst unsettled Thorin, but the dwarf chose not to respond in kind and retained a calm front. "I do not wish to 'lock' you up, beloved," the King said softly, and the unusual endearment sent a pleasant shiver down Bilbo's spine in spite of the situation, "but if I were to lose you… my heart could not bear it."

Anger and resentment instantly melted away in Bilbo's chest at the confession, replaced by fondness and empathy. Of course, Thorin had known nothing but loss in his life; first Erebor, then his grandfather, his brother, and his father. He never talked about his mother, but Bilbo knew she was deceased as well. The King Under the Mountain had come close to losing his only nephews, and himself, in the Battle of Five Armies. Of course he would try to protect Bilbo with all his might.

The hobbit reached out and tangled a hand in Thorin's dark hair, tugging him close – dwarven sense of propriety be damned – to lay a kiss on his brow. "You won't lose me," he whispered, his breath making a few black strands quiver. "I won't be leaving your side. But I need to leave my life in Hobbiton behind, and I want to do it properly."

"I have only just got you," Thorin mumbled, "and you are running away."

"I am not, silly dwarf," Bilbo scoffed, scooting closer to wrap an arm around Thorin's broad shoulders – or at least, attempt to do so. "With ponies and no need to keep our journey a secret this time, it should not take long to make it there and back again."

"We are still talking about months." Thorin's blue eyes travelled up to Bilbo's, anxious and doubtful. "I am not certain I could withstand being parted from you for that long."

The hobbit resisted the urge to coo. Despite their burly appearance and ill tempers, Dwarves could be very endearing when they put a mind to it. "You could always come along too, you are a warrior after all."

"And leave Erebor without a King once more?" Thorin snorted, shaking his head. "Dwarven ale has affected your wits, my hobbit, if you start having ideas like these."

"Dáin would make a good Steward, he already proved it," Bilbo shrugged, running his fingers through thick blades of grass absentmindedly. "Most dwarves in Erebor are from the Iron Hills, I'm sure they wouldn't mind. And with Balin at the head of the Council, you would have nothing to fear. I know most of your decisions are actually his, and don't try to deny it," he said firmly when Thorin opened his mouth to protest.

"Be that as it may," the dwarf growled lowly, "I cannot afford it. Erebor is still healing."

"Have it your way. I am sure Dwalin won't mind if I cuddle up to him at night if it's cold, anyway." Bilbo's chuckles turned into full blown laughter at Thorin's horrified face. He took pity on the dwarf and patted a thick forearm. "Peace, Thorin, I was joking. But still, promise to think about including me in your plans for the journey?"

Thorin sighed heavily and thought for a few moments. "On the condition," he said eventually, "that you swear to be as quick as possible, to stay safe and to return to me unscathed." At Bilbo's frantic nod, the dwarf gave a half-hearted hum. "Then I promise to think about it, you have my word."

"Thank you, dear! You are the best!" Throwing caution and dwarven etiquette to the winds, Bilbo flung his arms around Thorin's sturdy frame and leaned in his suitor's lap for a kiss. Caught a bit off guard, Thorin leaned back against the boulder for support as, instinctively, his arms shot up to steady Bilbo and his eyes darted around for possible onlookers.

And unfortunately, there were. Of the most unpleasant kind, too.

Gently, Thorin pulled back and lingered near Bilbo's ear long enough to whisper: "Stay here, I will be right back." The hobbit sat back down on the ground and watched on quizzically as his dwarf got to his feet, dusted himself off and started walking. Had he done something wrong? Well, aside from kissing, which was apparently a very sinful thing to do in broad daylight on dwarven territory. He had expected Thorin to scowl, not walk away.

But when Bilbo's eyes settled on the dwarf's destination, it suddenly became very clear. With a grin that was probably far too smug and snarky for a respectable hobbit, Bilbo settled comfortably against the boulder at his back and grabbed himself an apple. It was a beautiful, sunny day in the great dwarven kingdom of Erebor, he had good food within reaching range, and he wouldn't mind a bit of a show to go with it.

And if the dark storm brewing in Thorin's eyes as he marched over to where Yóna was standing – with a few other ladies and a disdainful sneer on her face that reminded Bilbo of a certain cousin of his – was any hint, this particular show was going to be spectacular indeed.


	5. An Unplanned Departure

**CHAPTER 4**

**An Unplanned Journey**

Thorin never needed to wear his crown for people to recognize him as King, and as such everybody in the small group of dwarves gave a respectful bow as he neared them. Even Yóna, who pasted a wide – but very, very strained – smile on her features as well.

"Good morning," he said when he reached them. "Or maybe should I say good afternoon."

"It is a nice day either way, Your Highness," Yóna said sweetly. "I see you are enjoying a bit of sunlight, as we do."

Thorin saw her golden eyes darting back to where Bilbo was still sitting, but he chose to overlook it. For now. "Indeed. And where are you off to on this fine day, if I may ask?"

"Oh, we were just taking a walk to Dale, we heard they have the finest bakers in Rhovanion," the dwarrowdam explained, then gestured to an older, dark-haired female. "Genka's husband is working in the fields, we are off to see him as well."

Thorin nodded. He only knew of one married dwarf who tended to the crops, and that was Korax. A brave, red-haired hunter who divided his time between plowing fields and scouring the plains with his bow. He had been one of the few dwarves who had volunteered to help the men from Dale with their soil, lending a hand to build small farms here and there, and would forever have Thorin's gratitude for it.

"Very well, then, I would be most obliged if you send everyone my best regards," the King said.

"Of course, Your Highness," Yóna nodded, and her mouth twitched before she added: "Should I send your… 'intended''s as well? I've heard it say that he's rather… well-liked around Erebor."

Thorin fought a dark smirk; he had been waiting for the young female to slip, and he hadn't been disappointed. He crossed his hands behind his back to maintain a casual front – and stop his fingers from twitching in anger as he remembered what terms she liked to use to describe Bilbo – his head tilting to the side in his best attempt at genuine puzzlement. He had never been one for acting, even when he was young, and probably wouldn't be able to lie to someone's face to save his life. But he would try.

"Indeed, that would be most kind. Though I can't help but wonder how you came by such an assumption."

A well-placed frown and a dangerously low tone were, most of the time, enough to send anyone cowering under the King's glare. But this dwarrowdam was clearly made of different stuffing, for she held his gaze and even raised her chin a little. Was it sheer recklessness, or did she really think she had some kind of power over Thorin simply because she was a female?

Admittedly, Thorin liked to meet people who had a bit of fire in them. But at the moment, this only served to aggravate him further.

"Just common knowledge, Majesty," Yóna said matter-of-factly, almost waving it off. "Miners and traders talk, and it just so happens that your intended's unusual nature is what they are interested in at the moment."

"With a little help from you, I gather," he drawled darkly.

"Your Highness?"

The game was off. Ever since he had learnt about the awful names Bilbo went by in the halls of his precious home thanks to Yóna's contribution, Thorin's fury had been bubbling right under his skin, threatening to explode at any given time. He had no more patience left to spare.

"Had you been a male I would have had your tongue cut out and nailed to the Gates," Thorin snarled, his sudden change in demeanor making the small group recoil in surprise and fright. "As it is, you are not, which is quite unfortunate."

Yóna didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. She only widened her eyes and pretended to be startled. "My King, I am not sure I unders-"

"From now on, let it be said that I expect nothing less than respect and deference when you speak to or about Bilbo Baggins," Thorin growled, not giving her a chance to reply. It was probably improper to address a dwarrowdam like this, but he was King, and what kind of suitor would he be if he let his intended's name be soiled without doing anything to prevent it? "If news reach my ears that you have instigated more foul talk about my One, there will be consequences. Most of which will involve a pony ready for you at dawn and a map of the Eastern Reaches. Is that clear?" When the female didn't answer, Thorin's voice took on a dangerous, biting edge. "Is that _clear_?"

"He is a _halfling_!" Yóna finally squeaked, and the other members of her small group took a step back, wary of the exchange taking place before their eyes. "It's just… it's unnatural! We do not marry out of our kind! It is bad enough that you are both males, but this-"

"I must be dreaming. For one second, I was under the impression that you were insulting the King's intended and implying that said King was making a stupid mistake. Please tell me I heard wrong."

Yóna opened her mouth to let fly another colorful comment, but Thorin's black glare had her stopping short. She was young, and apparently very bold, but she also valued her life. Or so it seemed. "My apologies, Your Highness," she muttered half-heartedly. "I shall not speak ill of the halfl- of Bilbo Baggins ever again."

"Much better. Now, as it is not my intention to keep you from your daily activities, I will let you be on your way. Have a good day." Thorin turned on his heels, but shot the offending female a look over his shoulder. "Show such disrespect again, and I won't be that forgiving. Nor will I seek privacy when I deal with you."

With those final parting words, Thorin walked away from the small group of unsettled dwarves. He could almost feel the disarray and distress coming off in waves against his back, and he was not disturbed to find that he liked it. Being King meant nothing if he didn't have some amount of power over other dwarves, and though he loathed using fear to his advantage, he was reassured to find that it was still effective. If only to set a few wandering souls right from time to time.

Thorin unclenched his fists, hissing under his breath when his fingernails were dislodged from his palms. To be truthful, he was proud he hadn't lost all control and chewed Yóna out as hard as he itched to. He was getting good at reining his anger in, and though it was especially difficult whenever Bilbo was involved, maintaining a composed front was getting easier with each passing day.

The sound of clapping drew Thorin from his thoughts, and it came to his attention that he had walked over to where his hobbit was still sitting. Bilbo was slowly applauding him, an unreadable expression stretched across his hairless features. "Funnily enough, I am disappointed," he said when Thorin sat back down beside him. "I expected more shouting and some blood, too."

Thorin chuckled and plucked a red apple from their basket. "What can I say, somehow you have managed to make a decent dwarf out of me."

"Now, that's a feat I cannot take credit for." Bilbo rolled his eyes when Thorin bit into the apple with the same delicacy that he would show while chopping wood, sending a trickle of juice down his chin and into his beard. "Were I in charge of your education, you would have much better table manners."

"Would I, now? I do not remember participating in the food fight in Rivendell, or in Lake-town, nor do I recall taking any part in the raiding of your pantry in Bag End which, according to you, was quite the dreadful event. I don't think my table manners are as bad as you say."

"The mere fact that you just wiped your mouth on your sleeve tells me otherwise." Bilbo fished in one of his pockets for his handkerchief and cleaned Thorin's mouth free of the sticky amber fluid. He hummed disapprovingly when the dwarf squirmed away from the gesture with a scowl. "Here. At least you seem to tolerate a bit a green food from time to time, so I guess it's better than nothing."

From the corner of his eye, Thorin watched as Yóna's group moved away towards Dale. Some dark, fierce part of himself wished for the young female's mouth to run again, just so he would have an excuse to unleash his anger. He would not – could not – bodily harm her, but he knew that words sometimes hurt more than a dagger to the knee.

"Some lemon pie, dear?"

"Most gladly."

* * *

The next week was, to Thorin's mild disappointment, relatively free of anyone speaking ill of Bilbo. He had Nori scouring the kingdom, down to the deepest mine shafts, but no report of disrespect came back to him. Apparently, the message had gotten across that the King's intended was not to be messed with – as if anyone needed a direct warning about it.

In the course of the very same week, Thorin had gone over possible trip arrangements to the Blue Mountains. As could be expected, Fili had been proud to be put in charge of the escort and had sworn that he would not disappoint. His younger brother, unsurprisingly, was eager to follow his sibling for another adventure in Eriador. Thorin suspected some of his enthusiasm was due to a possible passage through Mirkwood and a chance to see a certain elf again…

Getting Dwalin to go along had taken some coercing. At first the inked dwarf had flat out refused to be part of this journey where he would not be able to have an eye on Thorin. But the idea that the King's heirs were going to travel unsafe roads without proper protection – and Dwalin considered any company devoid of his presence poorly protected – swayed the tattooed dwarf and had him chasing Thorin down a corridor one day, grumbling out that he would be ready to go whenever his King saw fit.

Unlike his cousins, Bifur had elected to stay in Erebor. Thorin hadn't pushed the matter but, according to Bofur, the Khuzdul-speaking dwarf was still suffering from a pelvis fracture dealt in the Battle of Five Armies. A wound that would certainly be quite a nuisance, as far as pony-riding was concerned.

Since Dori and Nori were, as predicted, very busy with their respective assignations as Master of Coin and Spymaster – and their services were invaluable to Thorin, who held their hindsight in high regards – in the Council, the 'escort' came to a grand total of six dwarves.

And one hobbit. Of course.

Thorin groaned as he set his quill down beside the scroll he was writing on. He had had no choice but to agree to let Bilbo tag along. The dwarf couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he had agreed to this; maybe the third time his intended had cornered him late at night as he made his way back to his rooms, tired and wanting for his bed. A plague on the sneakiness of hobbits! They had a knack for taking advantage of moments of weakness to get their way.

Then again, he wasn't sure he could have said 'No' to Bilbo and lived with himself. The hobbit was willing to forsake everything he had ever known in favor of a brand new life in Erebor; the last Thorin could do was allow him to give his former life a proper ending. The dwarven King knew he would miss his One's presence, even suffer from it much like Bombur and Gloin had during their quest to reclaim Erebor, but he would bear it.

In the end, it would be worth it.

Then why, four days after he had begun telling himself that every two hours, did his heart still feel so heavy and burdened?

Thorin rubbed the bridge of his nose and took up his quill again. He had to finish his letter so it could be sent out at dawn by their fastest raven. Ered Luin was almost on the other side of the world, and although he had learned to trust the great black wings long ago, Thorin wished for his sister to be informed of the change of plans as soon as possible.

After a great deal of thinking, Thorin had decided that the small company from Erebor would wait for the caravans of the Blue Mountains in the Shire. Since the Vale of Thrain and the Low-Lands were relatively safe, they could afford to wait for Durin's Folk in Hobbiton, where Bilbo would have plenty of time – a handful of weeks, if Thorin's calculations were right – to tie up loose ends and take care of Bag End's future.

The King yawned; the hour was late and his writing sloppy. His bed was but a few feet behind him and he longed to throw himself on the furs for a well-deserved rest, but he knew the unfinished letter would plague his dreams. So he willed his hand to work and the words to come to his mind as he scratched away at the weathered parchment.

Minutes later, Thorin had put his quill down and was in the process of proof-reading his message for spelling mistakes – Mahal, had he really written 'Boggins' instead of 'Baggins'? – when there was a muffled knock at the door. The King frowned. He wasn't expecting visitors, especially not at such a late hour.

"Come in," he said, putting his scroll down and instinctively reaching for Orcrist that was propped up against his writing desk. It was more a habit than anything else; he doubted that real enemies would actually be polite enough to knock before barging in.

"Ah, my hands are little busy at the moment, would you mind opening the door for me?"

Thorin gave a tired but fond smile at the familiar voice and got up. He straightened the simple black shirt and trousers that he wore for bed, and briefly considered a change of clothes. He shrugged the idea off and made his way over to the door; Bilbo had seen him in much less appropriate clothing, after all.

When Thorin opened the door, he couldn't help but chuckle. Busy hands indeed; Bilbo was balancing a tray laden with two steaming mugs of what looked like a dark blend of tea and a plate of freshly baked pastries. The hobbit seemed to shake from the sheer weight of his load, and gave Thorin a mildly annoyed look. "Well, don't just stand there! Either help me or let me through, you rude dwarf!"

Thorin leaned over to take the tray from Bilbo's hands and closed the door when the hobbit was inside. His intended looked handsome wearing a deep blue waistcoat that hugged his small frame quite nicely, but the rolled up sleeves and mussed mop of curly hair spoke of labor.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" the dwarf asked, walking over to his bed to deposit the tray. "You need your strength for tomorrow."

"Well, I packed a few things and I helped Bombur stock up food for the trip," Bilbo explained as he rubbed his strained arms. He left a trail of soft footfalls as he padded over to the bed and sat on its edge, next to the tray. "Since I was in the kitchens, I thought it would be nice to bake a thing or two and come over to see you."

Thorin nodded, settling down on the other side of the tray. It had been a while since Bilbo's last visit for a midnight cup of tea, and he welcomed it with open arms. Especially since it would be some time until they had the opportunity to spend another evening with each other. "So, are you ready?" the King asked casually, ignoring the ice-cold grip on his heart. "I trust you haven't forgotten your handkerchief this time around?"

Bilbo scoffed and reached over the tray to tug gently at Thorin's courting braid. "No, this time I come prepared. I even have a change of pants in case it starts raining or I get muddy."

"Mahal save us all," Thorin smirked, snatching a tiny turnover from the plate and nibbling on it. The treat was still warm and crusty. "Before you leave, make sure you take some gold from the treasure room, in case you need anything on the way."

"Thorin, that won't be necessary, I still have most of my share from the quest."

"Now, that is a lie and we both know it," the dwarf stated, grabbing a cup of tea and scooting further up on the bed to settle against a pillow. "You had most of it shipped to Dale the day I agreed to give Lord Bard enough gold to rebuild the city. Nothing in Erebor escapes my notice," he added smugly when Bilbo's mouth fell open in surprise.

"You had Nori spying on me!"

"Such hard words. 'Looking after your well-being while I was unable to' has a nicer ring to it."

Bilbo grumbled undistinguishable, and probably very offensive, words as he took his own steaming cup and crawled up to sit next to Thorin. "Very well, then, but only a few coins. And you'll show me what I can or cannot take."

The King chuckled bitterly. "The first time you saw the hoard was the last time I did, âzyungel. You should rather ask Dori, I expect he knows more about this matter than I do."

Bilbo hesitated, then nodded. He had enough wits to refrain from asking why Thorin hadn't been to the treasure room for so long, and for that the dwarf was grateful. He wanted to enjoy his One's company, and not explain how he was living in fear of falling prey to gold-sickness anew.

They spent the next moments sitting side by side, their shoulders brushing intimately whenever they raised their cup of tea to their lips for a sip. Thorin was glad for the hot beverage, which was little more than an excuse to busy his mouth at that point, since he had no idea what he ought to say next. What do you tell your beloved before a long, possibly dangerous journey, without sounding like a pleading mess?

He was past trying to get Bilbo to stay; the hobbit's stubbornness rivalled even the most pig-headed of dwarves' and there was no swaying him from his goal. And telling him to be careful would imply that the shireling was incapable of looking after himself which, of course, was untrue and would doubtlessly irk Bilbo. So what then?

Soon, too soon, their cups were empty and the pastries gone from this world, and Thorin was still at a loss. He had never been good with words, had never quite managed to pour his heart into them much like his sister could. Dís was never tongue-tied; unlike him, she would know what to say.

Thorin was saved from further nerve-wrecking thoughts when Bilbo spoke up softly.

"Will you come and see me off tomorrow?"

There was so much hesitation, so much doubt in that single question that Thorin's heart couldn't help but ache a bit. "Of course, âzyungel, why in Durin's name would I not?"

Bilbo shrugged, one hand absently stroking the black wolf fur in front of him. "I don't know, you could have had a meeting, or a patrol, whatever it is Kings do in the morning."

Thorin sighed and wrapped an arm around the hobbit's shoulders, pulling him close into his side. "Nothing will keep me from seeing you off, Bilbo. Not even another fire drake." He backed his promise with a warm kiss to his intended's brow.

"Oh, good. Good. For some reason I thought you were still mad at me for leaving."

"Mad at you?" Thorin blinked. "I never was 'mad at you'. It's true that I dislike the idea, for a considerable amount of reasons that I will not bring up again-"

"Yes, that would be nice."

"- but I know it matters a lot to you. And if a few months away from you is the price to pay, then I shall endure it."

Thorin might not be a master with words, but his answer seemed to satisfy Bilbo, who scooted closer to snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, one arm thrown across the dwarf's bulky abdomen. The dwarf tangled a hand in the mop of curly hair on his chest and massaged Bilbo's scalp, chuckling when the hobbit let out a mewl-like sound and wrapped a leg around one of his. If Thorin had any power over it, he would not have this evening end for all the gold in Erebor.

Unfortunately, there were things gold couldn't buy on Arda.

"I'll miss you," came the words, mouthed against his chest and so muffled by his shirt that he almost didn't catch them.

"I will miss you too, beloved," Thorin whispered back, tucking the smaller head under his chin and wriggling a little to wrap his other arm around Bilbo. "More so than you think."

In the semi-darkness, the silence grew comfortable and intimate as both males relished in one another's presence. Bilbo's nimble hand was drawing mindless, pleasant patterns over the expanse of hard chest under his cheek, while Thorin enjoyed the soft kisses of honeyed curls over his nose. In light of the hearty fire illuminating the room, the short locks were golden and shining like tiny Suns on his intended's head.

Thorin was torn between sending Bilbo back to his rooms for the night and asking the hobbit to spend the remaining hours before dawn by his side. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he didn't know which option would cause less harm to his heart.

Once more, choice was tugged out of his reach when Bilbo's hand stilled and soft, muffled snores filled the air. He had, apparently, been more tired than he let on. Thorin quickly brushed aside the idea of waking Bilbo up and, with some effort, brought one corner of the heavy blue duvet up and over the shireling. It was relatively warm in the bedroom, but Bilbo's feet were bare and Thorin knew that at some point in the night the fire would burn itself out. It wouldn't do to send a sneezing and sniffling hobbit out on the road.

Carefully enough so that Bilbo would not be jostled out of sleep, Thorin settled down in his pillows and claimed another corner of the bedclothes as his own for the night. Safe and warm as he felt in that oddly-shaped cocoon, the dwarf doubted he would slumber. He had been ready to drop earlier, sitting at his desk, but Bilbo's breathing and weight on his body had him fully awake.

The King allowed his mind to wander for a few moments. It took him back to their months on the road, to the sight of a small bundle of shivering flesh across camp on cold nights. A fool of a dwarf he had been, then, turning a blind eye on the hobbit's discomfort and leaving him alone to deal with the harsh weather. He had redeemed himself on some level, for after their tussle with Azog in the Misty Mountains and their highly unpleasant stay in the Elvenking's dungeons, he wouldn't rest easily whenever Bilbo was sleeping further than a hairbreadth away. At that time, a mere foot between their bodies had seemed more than enough for the hobbit to be vulnerable to all kinds of danger.

And for the next few months, there was going to be much, much more than a foot keeping them apart.

A sudden wave of protectiveness came over Thorin and he held Bilbo tighter, drawing a small noise of protest from the slumbering form. Oh, he wished there was a way to keep Bilbo forever out of harm's way without caging him, but this was the world they were born to and it would never be as safe as he would like it to be. Bilbo's safety, whether inside or outside of Erebor's walls, could not be guaranteed even with a thousand guards stuck to his furry heels.

For now, Thorin would watch over Bilbo for the remainder of the night, until dawn came and tore his One away from his arms. And his eyes.

* * *

"I have come across a few mother hens in my life, but you, Thorin Oakenshield, just take the cake!" Bilbo scoffed and crossed his arms where he stood next to his pony, his reins tightly clutched in one hand. "I am not a fluffy fledgling, I'll have you know I can take care of myself just fine."

"I was just pointing out that I find your pack a bit light," the King said calmly, his hands tying a last knot to secure Bilbo's bundle on the white pony's hindquarters. "I trust you took a blanket?"

"Yes," came the short, sour reply.

"You should have taken a thicker bedroll, rocks and roots will dig right through this one and into your back."

"I'm not that heavy, I will be fine."

"Have you packed that salve Oin made? You haven't been on a pony for some time now, and saddle sores are-"

"Thorin!" Bilbo hissed, cutting right through the dwarf's embarrassing rambling. Dwalin and Bofur were already in their saddles and were watching on with a mirthful glint in their eyes. "I will be _fine_. Will you please stop making me the laughing stock of the Eastern Reaches?"

The insufferable dwarven lump took a look around and only then seemed to realize that they were watched. Not only by the other members of the small party – who had the decency to appear busy with their saddles or worried over something in their ponies' manes when the King glanced their way – but by a small gathering of dwarves that had formed by the Great Gates as well. While they were too far away to actually hear their exchange, Thorin's behavior could hardly be mistaken for anything else than a fussing mother's.

"I'm sorry," the dwarf mumbled, casting his blue eyes to the ground in thought. "I am just… nervous, I suppose."

Bilbo's annoyance flew away and he reached out to cup one bearded cheek. "Everything will turn out fine, Thorin, you shouldn't worry so much."

"Or should I?" The King gave a mock snort. "Last time I let you out of my sight for more than a week, you ended up stuffing me in a barrel and throwing me down a torrent where I had to avoid getting pierced by a hundred orc's arrows. Mahal knows what kind of fate will befall me upon your return."

Bilbo chuckled and wrapped his arms around Thorin who slowly returned the hug. The hobbit buried his face into the solid chest to commit its warmth to memory. It was for the best, he knew, but his heart was reluctant to be parted from Thorin's so soon after they had given in to their feelings. He would return, eventually, and they would pick up where they left off, together.

One large hand came to rest on Bilbo's head, fingers tangling gently in the shaggy curls. "There is no guaranty that your journey will be a safe one, but please, at least promise me to remain cautious?" came the whispered plea, and Bilbo was sure this was as close to begging as Thorin would ever get.

"Of course, dear heart. You have my word."

After one last squeeze, Bilbo stepped back and did his best to give Thorin a beaming smile. He longed to grab that bearded face and kiss those brooding lips senseless, but there were eyes on them and he wouldn't discredit the King Under the Mountain in front of his peers.

The hobbit would have been glad to just stare at his dwarf for the next hour or so; alas time wouldn't wait, and it was well into the morning already. Thorin understood, however, for he dropped to one knee and allowed Bilbo to use his thigh as leverage to haul himself up and in his saddle. Snowball, young pony that he was, gave a nervous neigh at his small master's sudden movement but a good pat on the neck from Thorin's large hand soothed the beast.

Bilbo wriggled a bit, trying to settle comfortably in the leather saddle with his back against his travelling pack and his legs hugging Snowball's sides, though too short to properly reach the pony's flanks. He was glad he had chosen loose hobbit clothing for the day, it would be much more pleasant to ride in than fancy dwarven overcoats. They were lovely, but unfit for travel.

Something tugged at his leg and Bilbo looked down to see that Thorin had his furry ankle clasped in one large hand, as well as an unreadable expression on his face. His other hand was holding the reins just beneath Snowball's mouth, as if he was somehow afraid that Bilbo would take off at moment's notice – which was, of course, preposterous.

Another tug, another insistent look, and Bilbo dipped his head to listen to whatever the King apparently wanted to say. His eyes went wide when, instead of muttering words of concern once more, Thorin leaned up to capture his lips in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. The contact was controlled and warm, and though it was brief, it ignited a fire in Bilbo's cheeks that reached up to the very tip of his ears.

When Thorin pulled away, the hobbit let his forehead rest against long strands of dark hair. "Everyone's watching," was the first thing that came to his mind and escaped his mouth.

"Let them," the King growled. "I couldn't care less. Just make sure you come back to me."

"I will." Bilbo nestled his nose into Thorin's mane for a last, solid kiss. "I will."

"Fear not, Uncle!" Kili said cheerfully as he walked his pony next to Bilbo's. "We will protect our burglar with our very lives, if it comes down to it. Won't we, brother?"

"Aye, no doubt about it," Fili nodded, not yet seated atop his pony and still in the process of buckling his saddle properly.

Thorin's blue eyes narrowed in on his nephews. "You two, act your age for once and don't fool around. Fili, you are in charge, but don't go and take any unnecessary risk on this journey. Stick to Dwalin."

Fili rolled his eyes, climbing into his saddle and nudging his black pony until he was next to his younger brother. "I promise we will all be careful, Uncle. We won't disappoint."

Thorin nodded, patting each young dwarf's knee with a hand. "Stick to the paths. Bandits are easier to deal with than foul creatures that hide in the wilderness." The King's eyes softened and he allowed a small smile to grace his lips. "And send my love to your mother. Tell her I can't wait to show her our home."

"Agreed, Uncle."

"Good lads." Thorin turned at the sound of hooves hitting rock, and nodded when Dwalin, Gloin, Bombur and Bofur neared him. "I am not one for great speeches, as you might already know. I would just like to wish you a safe journey and a quick return trip. May Mahal's blessing accompany you with every step."

The six dwarves gave grunts of acknowledgment and after a last promise to be careful, they set off. Dwalin was the first to nudge his pony down the road, the twin axes tied together behind his saddle clinking away with every step. He was closely followed by Fili and Kili, who waved back at Thorin and kept shouting their reassurances until they were out of earshot. Bofur rode beside Gloin, each steering not only their mount but one additional pony laden with supplies. And last was Bombur, perched atop a particularly hardy brown pony that, at least for now, didn't seem to be bothered by the strenuous weight atop its back.

Bilbo shifted in his saddle. Finally, he took up his reins and locked eyes with Thorin for the last time. There was worry in the cobalt blue pools, doubt as well, but most of all there was love. So with a last fond smile, Bilbo spurred his pony on the road after the other dwarves.

He kept the smile on as long as he could, but he never looked back. The hobbit wasn't sure his resolve would stand it.

* * *

As soon as the small party disappeared behind the first hill, Thorin turned on his heels and strode back inside Erebor. He ignored the confused faces and came close to shoving those who weren't quick enough to get out of his way in time. He climbed the first staircase he found three steps at a time, his heavy boots hitting the cold stone with force until he found himself on the large balcony overlooking the plains, up high on the Great Gates of Erebor.

Thorin leaned on the thick guardrail and brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. It took him no time at all to sight the nine ponies walking in line down the road. Dwalin and Fili were leading, with Kili sticking close to his brother as was his habit. Gloin and Bofur were still riding side by side, and Bilbo had caught up with Bombur.

They were already so far away. Soon, Thorin would not be able to recognize Bilbo's curly head…

"You know, you run fast, for an old lad."

Thorin's head whipped around. His cheeks red and his breath coming out in pants, Dáin emerged from the staircase and came to lean heavily on the guardrail next to his cousin.

"I am not old," the King replied.

"Well, older than me, in any case."

"And yet you are the one looking like you had to outrun a warg."

"True, true." The Lord of the Iron Hills peered out at the expanse of land before them. "They have departed, then. Six dwarves, one hobbit. Do you think this will be enough?"

"I cannot know for certain. I can only hope." Thorin sighed and leaned his elbows on the broad guardrail, watching the company as huge banners flapped in the early morning wind.

His composure recovered, Dáin flashed Thorin a mildly annoyed glance. "It was sheer luck, dear King, that my son had dinner with your nephews yesterday. Otherwise I would have never been made aware of this little scheme of yours to send out an escort to the Blue Mountains."

"What of it?" Thorin would be eternally grateful for Dáin's help in reclaiming and rebuilding Erebor, but that insufferable Ironfoot had a knack for getting his nose in other people's business that he found a bit aggravating on the best of days.

"Why didn't you ask me? I would have had an entire squadron ready for you in hours, you just had to say the word." Dáin crossed his arms over his gold-embroidered chest. "You always know you can-"

"This mission is my concern and mine alone," Thorin snarled, turning darkened blue eyes to his cousin. "This people is mine to take care of, I won't involve you or any of your dwarves if I can help it!"

The tirade had Dáin wordlessly staring at Thorin, eyes wide and a bit bewildered. It was the first time the dwarven King had managed to have that silver tongue tied, and he wasn't even feeling proud about it. A wave of shame and guilt washed over him as his words caught up to him, his shoulders slumping. "Forgive me, Dáin," he muttered, running a weary hand down his face. "I'm afraid I am not feeling well today. I did not mean to snap at you."

"No offense taken, cousin. I too had to part from my One to come here, I understand." A highly undignified noise escaped Thorin's throat as he faced the Lord of the Iron Hills who, far from being offended, was looking at him with a large smile. "Oh, spot on! Damn, I'm good at this."

"What do you mean?" Thorin asked, and no, he wasn't squirming.

"You are not worried about your people, cousin. You are worried about the halfling." Dáin pasted a concerned look on his features and rubbed at his greying beard. "I admit I understand. Such a small creature, thrown into this great, dangerous world. It is a wonder he yet lives."

"He is not as helpless as he looks," Thorin countered, feeling the urge to defend Bilbo. "But you are right. I am worried that he might get hurt, or… or worse." A disgusting shiver ran down his spine at the thought of a world without Bilbo by his side. Some things were better left ignored.

"Why didn't you go with him, then? To keep him safe?"

If the noise from before had been undignified, then this one was bordering on obscene. Thorin was thoroughly baffled by Dáin's behavior. He had – indirectly – rejected Dihla, choosing instead to court someone outside of their race and considered of lower standing by many. And his cousin, as any respectable dwarf, ought to be irked, outraged even. Not genuinely concerned.

"Besides," Dáin pursued, giving Thorin no time to cut in, "who better than yourself would be able to protect both your One _and _your people? Six dwarves is a good number, but seven has an even nicer ring to it, don't you think?"

Had that devil from the Iron Hills been spending time with Bilbo? It felt like Thorin was reliving one of the arguments he had had with his intended in the course of the previous week. "I would be lying if I said I never thought about it," the dwarf drawled. "But I belong here, in Erebor. I risked my life for these walls. I won't abandon them so easily."

To Thorin's surprise, his cousin had the cheek to snort. "Who said anything about abandoning them? Thorin, you have trusted advisors, and the Counsellors are so well-versed in the way you think that they could almost rule by themselves. And need I remind you that I guarded your throne for weeks, back when you were still recovering? I would have bitten the head off of any fool who dared approach it with ill will, and I would do it all over gladly."

It was Thorin's turn to be speechless. "I am… Dáin, Kings don't shrink from their duties and run away, especially not when their kingdom is being nursed back to life."

"Well, Kings don't hide in a corner and send forth a hobbit to deal with a dragon by himself, but I reckon it didn't bother you then." When Thorin's hands tightened on the parapet and a shudder ran through him, Dáin's tone softened. "Thorin, this is your people waiting on the other side of Middle-Earth. Your kin. Nobody will think less of you if you leave Erebor to see them safely home. Now," the Lord cleared his throat, leaning sideways against the guardrail in a casual pose, "will you offend me further or will you accept my help?"

Thorin's eyes darted back to the small escort. They were much farther now, tiny moving dots under the morning sun. But not completely out of sight. "I have burdened you so much already…"

"Nonsense!" Dáin waved the comment off as he would a bothersome fly. "I have been ordering people around in the Iron Hills for the past century and a half, it is more a habit than a burden at this point. Just say the word, cousin."

A plague on Dáin II Ironfoot and that silly silver tongue of his! Now Thorin didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't want to desert his prized city, but it was true that he longed to protect his kin – and Bilbo – himself. His kingdom would be safe in Dáin's capable hands, with Balin's wits and Dori's quick thinking to back him up, still Thorin felt self-conscious. His father wouldn't have approved, and his grandfather even less. Somehow, he felt that they would view it as betrayal.

"Thorin?"

"I haven't packed anything," was all the dwarven King could reply, and it sounded poor even to his own ears. "By the time I am ready to go, they will have left the plains. This isn't meant to be."

"Your lack of faith sometimes makes me wonder how you came to achieve so much all these years." With a dramatic sigh, Dáin flung his upper body over the parapet. For one frightful, bewildered second, the dwarven King was convinced his cousin had finally gone mad and wished to end his life, but the younger dwarf just stayed where he was, carefully balanced over the thick guardrail. "Thorin! Oi my boy, I'm up there!"

"I can see that," Thorin said slowly, doubting the other dwarf's sanity in the end. "And if I may, what you are doing now looks very life-threatening."

"Not speaking to you, cousin. Oi Thorin! Run to the stables and have the King's pony all saddled up and ready to go. And make it quick, will you."

"Aye, Father!" came a youthful voice from below. Thorin chanced a glance down the balcony and sure enough, a young chestnut-haired lad was looking up at them with a grin. Of course. He had forgotten that Dáin's son and himself shared the same name. "Isn't there something you must take care of first, though?"

The Lord of the Iron Hills grumbled colorful Khuzdul words under his breath and dug a hand in his pocket, extracting a few golden coins that he flung to his son. "There, you goblin wart, now off with you!"

"Yes, Father! Your Highness," Thorin III said with a little bow to the King, before he scurried off.

"He will be the death of me yet, but he is a good lad," Dáin said as he set his booted feet back on the ground and dusted himself off. He was in the process of combing his fingers through his beard to smooth it out when he noticed Thorin's puzzled glare. "Ah. I may have had a little bet with my son, regarding whether or not you would depart this morning."

"And you bet I would elect to stay in Erebor?" The black-haired dwarf frowned. If that was the case, then why had his cousin worked so hard to convince him to leave?

"As I've said, dreadful lack of faith. I bet you would refuse, mope around for most of the morning and then depart in the afternoon. Turns out my lad has more hindsight than I do." Dáin shook his head, the golden beads in his beard and hair clinking together gently. "Now, I wouldn't want to give the impression that I can tell a King what to do, but don't you have things to pack?"

Thorin only hesitated a second before his feet took off and he was running down the staircase before he even made the conscious decision to do so. Amidst the heavy thuds of metal-capped boots hitting the steps and the persistent rustling of his clothes against his skin, a light voice began chanting in the dwarf's head. It sang of joy at being spared the absence of his One, and of thrill at being reunited with his kin. It sang of wet grass under pony hooves and stories shared around the fire. It sang of lifeblood pumping through his body as it readied itself for another journey.

Thorin felt more alive than he had in weeks.

He paused in the middle of the stone-carved steps to look up at Dáin, who had stayed on the balcony and was looking down upon the Entrance Hall with a twinkle in his eyes. "I cannot begin to thank-"

"Will you run already? They'll probably be halfway through Mirkwood by the time you get in your saddle!"

Dáin chuckled when Thorin nodded, a grateful smile etched on his lips, before the King pushed onwards through a small gathering of blacksmiths who were just standing there, gaping. They weren't used to see the King Under the Mountain addressed in such an authoritative way, and were probably baffled by Thorin's lack of retaliation. But the son of Thráin was far too busy dodging workers to notice the stares.

"Run, cousin," Dáin whispered to himself, his eyes never leaving Thorin's racing form. "Run to where you belong. And may Mahal's Hammer always clear a path between you and your happiness. Durin knows you deserve it."

* * *

One hour into their journey, Bilbo was reminded why travelling with dwarves could prove to be a very strenuous business. Dwalin and Fili's light bicker about which road they should take to reach Mirkwood had escalated into a full-fledged shouting match, with Kili joining in at some point to back his brother up. The hobbit suspected that, without Thorin to silence the lot of them with the aid of a single death glare, the fights were going to be a recurring matter.

Oh, he couldn't believe he was missing Thorin already.

"Uncle said to stick to the path, so stick to the path we will!" Fili growled while his brother furiously nodded from behind him. Apparently, the blond-haired youth was taking his role as leader very seriously, and he was planning to make good on his promise to Thorin to be careful.

"This road leads to Dale, useless detour if ye ask me," Dwalin countered. "We can cut through that vale ahead. That'll shorten the trip and keep us far from that blasted city of Men."

"You don't like Lord Bard, we get it, but it would probably take just as long to climb up and down those hills as walking a few miles more on the road."

"Plus, there'll probably be free ale in good ol' Dale," Bofur piped in. "That's enough of a reason, if you ask me."

"Nobody's askin' you."

And the fight heated up a notch, pulling yet another sigh from Bilbo. This would not do. Wolves needed a leader to steer the pack. Lions needed an alpha to protect the family. And Dwarves needed a King to yell louder than them and shut everyone up. In that field, Fili was still a pup, yipping tentatively with the restrain of a young thing where Dwalin barked at the top of his lungs. Of course, had Thorin been there, his roar would cover even the tattooed dwarf's rumbling.

Bilbo's mind was left to wander, the constant bickering pushed to the background of his thoughts and the reins in his hand slipping a bit down Snowball's neck. The sun was a blessing on his toes and his face; so delightful in fact that he considered taking off his green waistcoat and rolling up his sleeves to enjoy the warmth on his forearms.

He had always preferred bright summers to the cold, unforgiving days of winter. When it had snowed in Lake-town, Bilbo had almost swallowed his pride and asked the dwarves for a spare pair of boots, so frightened that he was at the thought of losing his toes to frostbite. It almost never snowed in the Shire, and when it did, nobody set foot outside until all the dreadful white stuff had turned into muddy puddles. Lucky were the vendors of the following market then, where a crowd of half-starved hobbits usually poured in to restock at least two of their pantries.

No, Bilbo thought, summer was best. Maybe they would arrive in Hobbiton in time for apple and pear picking. Farmer Maggot always had the sweetest, juiciest pears in the Shire, but he guarded his trees as fiercely as he would his young daughters – if he had any, that is. While young lads and lasses waited for the cover of night for a taste, Bilbo had long since moved past that stage and preferred to bargain with the farmer. Who knew such a cranky hobbit as Farmer Maggot fancied story books so much? Bilbo could very well be the only one.

The former burglar let himself be lulled into a peaceful haze by fond memories of the Shire and the calm thuds of pony hooves hitting the earth. Their mounts had had fresh horseshoes put on the previous day for the long journey. Bilbo had been curious enough to take a peek and had practically howled when that big burly blacksmith had hammered the first huge nail into Snowball's hoof. The hobbit had run, thinking his pony to be in grave danger, only to have Bofur grab him by the collar and spare him the embarrassment.

It seemed that nailing horseshoes was common practice, that it didn't hurt ponies at all and would protect their hooves from wear. Bilbo had seen his fair share of ponies in the Shire, but the lush grass and soft dirt hardly called for such a barbaric thing. Hobbits, of course, were of 'gentler folk', as Bofur had said to the astonished blacksmith as a lame excuse.

Something was off, though. Bilbo's nose scrunched up as he strained his ears. Through the thuds and the clatter of weapons accompanying the moving ponies, another kind of noise was beginning to take form. Very soft and discreet at first, it steadily grew into something fiercer, reminding Bilbo of drums or rumbling thunder.

Or a galloping horse.

"Wait up!" came the roar from behind.

The entire party was stunned into silence and immediately halted their ponies. Quickly, in a flurry of braids and clinking gear, dwarves and hobbit turned around in their saddles to catch sight of the newcomer.

A strangled gasp tumbled out of Bilbo's mouth as he recognized the dwarf riding down the road, his dark strands whipping around in the wind as he pushed his pony faster and faster. When he saw the company looking at him, Thorin pulled on his reins and gradually slowed his mount down to a pace, stopping only when he was next to Snowball's white rump.

Both rider and pony were out of breath, but at least Thorin didn't have a thick trail of spit running down his neck. The King tangled a grateful hand into his mount's black mane – Jango, the exhausted beast's name was, if Bilbo remembered correctly – and took a second to stand straight and dignified in his saddle in spite of his dishevelled hair and Orcrist on the verge of falling off his back.

"I'm coming with you," he managed once his panting had calmed down somewhat.

Had his feet not be secured on either side on Snowball's flanks, Bilbo would have fallen out of his saddle. Judging by the amount of gasps and surprised grunts erupting from the front of the line, his astonishment was shared.

"B-but," the hobbit stammered, "Erebor…"

"Is in good hands," Thorin assured, "and will still be standing when I come back."

"I don't mean no offense, laddie," Dwalin growled, one large hand resting on one equally large hip, "but have ye lost yer blasted mind?"

Thorin only smiled at the comment, unbothered by his old friend's bite. "No, Dwalin, I merely changed it." A swell of affection brushed against Bilbo when the pair of warm blue eyes settled on him, more relaxed and open than he had seen them in days. "That is, if you will have me."

"Don't be silly!" Bilbo snapped, his voice little more than a strong squeak. "I-I mean, you know, it's only up to you… with your duties, and everything…"

"I talked to the King, he doesn't mind me coming along," Thorin chuckled, amused by the small outburst. "So long as I keep in touch."

"Whatever do you m- Oh!" Bilbo recoiled slightly when two great black shapes bore down on Thorin; his heart skipped a beat before he recognized the ravens. They were larger than most birds he had seen in the Entrance Hall, and barely fit on Thorin's broad shoulders at all.

"Here are Troäc and Caräk, sons of Roäc. They volunteered to accompany us and be my ears and eyes while I am away from Erebor." As if on cue, both ravens bowed low, their beaks almost touching Jango's mane in the process, and took off from their narrow perch to fly ahead of the group.

"Lovely," Bilbo commented. "I hope they are polite enough not to use our heads as targets when they relieve themselves." His eyes darted back to his dwarf, who had since regained some level of composure, and frowned. "You only have a single bag, and it doesn't look very big. What's in there?"

"Now who is the mother hen?"

"Uncle!" Kili called from the front of the group. "Fili says he allows you to come, but you don't get to lead! We would like to get to the Shire before the next century."

Thorin pretended to scowl, but he was far too amused for it. "Very well, then, send your leader my thanks and tell him I will be content to stay at the back." He paused for a fond look in Bilbo's direction. "And remind him that his mother is not yet here to protect him, should I wish to harm his health."

Snickers and chuckles blossomed in the small group before they nudged their ponies onwards again. Thorin's Jango fell into step next to Snowball, their flanks so close that their riders' legs were almost brushing. Warmth flooded Bilbo's cheeks when a large dwarven hand reached out to clasp his knee. He fought the urge to giggle at the joy bubbling deep in his chest; that was not what respectable hobbits did.

Rambling and babbling, on the other hand…

"D-don't think you are getting out of this, Thorin Oakenshield," he stuttered. "What is in your bag?"

"Everything I need for this trip," the King replied casually. "Scrolls, quills, ink, a whetstone or two…"

"What about a bedroll? A blanket?"

Innocent blue eyes peered at him over one fur-lined shoulder. "I figured since you took those, we might share…"

"Sneaky dwarf." Bilbo shook his head. Now he knew who Fili and Kili were getting their puppy eyes skills from. "If you had made up your mind sooner, you would have had time to prepare. But no, as per usual, you just rush into things. When _I _rush into things, I only forget to bring a handkerchief, but you? I bet you didn't even bring a proper change of clothes."

"Don't be ridiculous." A pause, and Bilbo braced himself for the next words. "I think I saw a pair of socks in the bag when I picked it up, though whether they are clean or not, I'm not certain."

"Oh, dear."


	6. Through Greenwood

**CHAPTER 5**

**Through Greenwood**

"Oh, Bilbo, what about this one?"

"Really, Kili? I thought you dwarves were shown this one before you even learned to walk." Bilbo looking down from the night skies at his cauldron, making sure his stew wouldn't burn and that he had a few minutes available to indulge the young dwarf. Satisfied, he peered upwards once more, finger pointing at a constellation in particular. "Those seven stars are thought to be Durin's Crown. See the brightest one in the middle? Well, dwarven astronomy has it that it represents Durin, surrounded by the six other Fathers of Dwarves. But its relevance is a bit… controversial, so to speak."

Kili's face scrunched up in thought. "What do you mean?"

"For many, Durin's Crown is nothing more than a vision, a myth," Fili said quietly from where he sat against a log, chipping away at a small wooden block with a knife. "It is said that one day, Durin the Deathless travelled to Dimrill Dale and looked into the Mirrormere, or Kheled-zâram as he later called it. Despite the fact that it was day, he saw a crown of stars above his reflection in the lake. He took it as a good omen and founded Khazad-dûm, or Moria, deep inside the mountain beneath the Mirrormere. Durin's Stone was carved to commemorate the occurrence, but to this day historians are unsure whether the constellation depicted on the Stone really exists, or was just a vision. Those seven stars up there are the closest Dwarves have found that match the description, and there are still some who would deem it unsatisfactory."

Complete silence followed the tirade, and Fili looked up from his carving to see every single pair of eyes turned to him. The heir to the Throne of Erebor shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "What? Everybody knows that."

"When have you started to talk like a book?" Kili asked when he realized he was gaping.

Fili threw him a dark glare. "I do not. It might come as a surprise, but I listen to Uncle Thorin's stories even when there's no mention of mighty beasts or great battles."

"That is a nice thing to hear, Fili," Thorin nodded approvingly from his position near the fire, his eyes returning to the scroll he was balancing on one crossed leg. "It would do you good to take a leaf out of your brother's book, Kili."

"Story of my life," the young archer groaned, but he did patter over to where Fili was sitting and settled down next to his sibling to observe the carving, his chin nestled on his big brother's shoulder.

Bilbo chuckled and turned back to his simmering deer stew. So far, this journey felt like a one of the camping holidays he had had when he was younger. Thorin and Dwalin were sitting side by side, adding the strange mixture of quill scratching paper and stone hitting metal to the merry cracking of their fire. Sprawled out in the grass, Bofur was trying to play dice with Gloin; _trying _being the key word, since the red-bearded dwarf was very busy debating whose wife was prettiest with Bombur. Which was always a delicate matter prone to bring forth heated arguments.

Not to mention the terrible, embarrassing images that would be stuck in Bilbo's mind for a while due to certain comments. One's prowess in the bedroom shouldn't be discussed so openly where hobbit ears could hear them.

But thankfully, the evening's war focused on less private and more acceptable matters. Well, for dwarves anyway.

"My Sáli could drink you right through the ground, fat belly an' all," Gloin growled, his clamped jaws pulling at his wound and making it redder than normal. The missing chunk of his beard had yet to regrow and cover the scarred flesh, but Bilbo doubted it ever would. "Always beaten me at it, she has, and you'd be no different."

"It's not as if you're much of a challenge," the round dwarf scoffed, wrapping up the rest of their meat to be cooked later. "Ye've always been a lightweight, Gloin."

"Like you'd know somethin' about being a lightweight…"

"Enough with the fat jokes already!" Bofur fumed, hitting the ground with a closed fist but only emitting a soft sound muffled by the thick grass. "Throw the damn dice, for once I'm winnin'!"

"Bofur, what did I say about cursing and dinner?" Bilbo scolded, stirring the pot to avoid getting meat and beans stuck to the bottom.

"It's either one or the other?"

"Exactly. Now could you please be a dear and bring me the bowls? I think it's almost ready."

The toy maker finally gave up on his game of dice with a mournful grunt, but got to his feet and went off to rummage through one of their packs. Bilbo added some sage as seasoning and gave the stew a couple more stirs, all the while humming to himself. He didn't mind cooking for the group, in spite of Bombur's protests; Hobbits enjoyed simple pleasures, and nothing pleased him more than the swell of pride he felt anytime someone complimented him on his cooking skills.

Which didn't occur often, since dwarves tended to wolf down anything he gave them in under a minute without even tasting it, but he had come to take that very habit as a praise. A very unusual, dwarven praise.

Bilbo had other motives for preparing dinner that night. He had never spoken of it to anyone, not even Thorin, but cooking for one another was an essential part of courting in the Shire. Back in Erebor, he had scarcely had any time for a chat with Thorin, let alone a whole meal alone with him. In Bag End and with a full pantry, Bilbo would have whipped up a feast fit for Thorin's standing – meat pies, roast tomatoes coated in cheese dancing around a stuffed turkey, he could almost see it on the dinner table. But they were on the road, and the hobbit would have to make do.

Bilbo had waited until he had gathered all the herbs he needed, stashing them in his pocket to dry as they headed west. On the third day, when they stopped for lunch, the hobbit had scurried over to a patch of trees and almost cried out when he had found the small, white mushrooms that would bring the final touch to Belladonna Took's 'Special Sunday Stew'. His mother probably had never thought that he would try to prepare her most prized dish out there in the wilderness for a bunch of dwarves, but for some reason, he had a feeling it would do her proud.

Fresh meat, preferably beef, had been the last ingredient on the list. On this side of Middle-Earth, villages were a rare commodity, and markets even more so. The solution to Bilbo's problem had showed its snout sometime in the early evening, when they had settled down for the night. The hobbit had walked over to a few bushes, his bladder screaming at him all the way, and he was halfway through unlacing his trousers when the deer sprang forth. Bilbo had fallen on his already abused behind with a shriek, scared out of his skin and almost wetting his pants when the creature took a graceful leap over him. Within seconds, Kili's arrow flew and struck home deep into the deer's neck.

Bilbo had only spent a handful of seconds grieving for the beautiful animal, glad as he had been to put his dinner plans into actions at long last. But then he had looked down and noticed that he was sprawled out with his pants down to his knees, and had scampered off into the bushes with a small squeak while the rest of the company roared out their laughter. It had taken a few minutes for Thorin to come and retrieve Bilbo from his hiding spot, dragging the hobbit back to camp, his dark eyes daring anyone to laugh again. Thankfully, dwarves were not so dense that they couldn't take the hint, and nobody did more than smirk.

Still, if Fili made another comment about the moon being full that night, Bilbo would not be above throwing his ladle right into the prince's mischievous face.

The hobbit thanked Bofur when eight bowls were laid out on the ground next to the pot, and couldn't suppress a smug grin when the dwarf smelled the steam swirling in the evening air with a dreamy look on his cheerful features. "Yer spoilin' us, Bilbo, that's what yer doing."

"Nonsense. Just wait until I get a hold of my kitchen in Bag End again, there's going to be some serious spoiling then." With the toy-maker's help, Bilbo filled each bowl with a generous serving of stew, making sure that everyone had the same amount of meat, beans and potatoes. "Dinner's ready!"

If there was any kind of spell in this world to turn Dwarves into half-starved wolves, those would probably be the magic words. Whetstones and dice disappeared as Bilbo's companions scrambled to sit quietly around the cauldron, hands held out as Bofur passed over smoking hot bowls and spoons. Immediately, the air was filled with the clatter of wood on wood and hums of delight as the party tucked in. When Bofur settled down with his own serving, Bilbo was surprised to see there were still two bowls to be passed on, and a quick glance over his steaming pot told him that Thorin hadn't budged from his spot on the other side of camp.

With a shake of his head, the hobbit swooped down to snatch the two bowls up. "There is still some stew left, I guess I'm still used to cooking for fourteen, so help yourselves," Bilbo chirped, escaping the direct vicinity of his cauldron when challenging glares were exchanged betwixt the dwarves. He didn't want to be within reach when the first bowls were polished off.

Carefully balancing the food, Bilbo crossed the camp and neared Thorin. The King was staring at the scroll laid out on his knees as though he wanted to burn holes right through the paper. Slowly, absentmindedly, he was brushing the feathered end of his white quill over his lips and down his beard as he mulled over one thing or another. From time to time, the dwarf would steal a glance at the two ravens that were cackling on an overturned log and picking at the bowl of raw deer chunks they had been given as supper. Once in a while, both birds would pick the same bit of meat and battle for it fiercely, all indignant screeches and ruffled feathers, until their sharp beaks tore the piece in two.

"I guess all siblings are the same, even Ravens," Bilbo chuckled as he came to a stop next to Thorin. "But you would know more about this than I do, I suppose."

"I never quarrelled much with my brother and sister," the dwarf supplied, eyes falling back on his piece of parchment. "The two of them fought often enough for three. I was too busy separating them most of the time."

"A great big brother, you are." Bilbo sat down with caution, crossing his bare legs on the soft grass before he handed one bowl over. "Here. Not as good as it would have been with a proper kitchen, but I think it's acceptable."

"Let me finish this, I won't be long."

"Your scroll will still be there in a few minutes, but your dinner will be cold." With a resigned sigh, Thorin rolled up his work and set it down on the ground next to him. Bilbo frowned when he noticed the ink staining the dwarf's fingers. Trust that lump to make a mess of himself right before dinner. The hobbit repressed his urge to tut and fetch his handkerchief to clean the dwarven fingers, lest he be called a fussing mother hen once more, and just waited until Thorin took the bowl. "What is so important about it, anyway?"

Thorin leaned back against a moss-covered boulder and stretched his legs with a muffled groan before he answered. "It is just a report about the deepest mine shafts in Erebor. They have yet to be cleared of all rumble and though the mother gold lodes are now accessible, it might be dangerous to dig further in to uncover lesser veins. It smells delicious," he added after an appreciative whiff at his steaming bowl.

For a second, Bilbo's ego smirked like a proud cat after a successful hunt. But his curiosity was aroused, and while it was common knowledge that curiosity was an infamous cat killer, it was relatively harmless for hobbits. "Why would it be dangerous?"

"The roof of the shafts have been weakened and most, if not all of them, are extremely unstable. As of now, it would take months to properly repair the damage and make it safe for miners again. I was just wondering whether or not I should send word to seal the whole gallery off and be done with it."

Bilbo was left to blink quite stupidly. Sealing off gold veins? Now, he didn't have any serious experience in the culture of dwarves, other than they were thick-headed and disliked green food, but that didn't sound like a very dwarven thing to do. "Now why would you do that?" he asked, scooting over to where he could see Thorin's face without having to twist his neck at an odd angle.

"The mother lodes alone will be enough to provide enough gold to last centuries. I am reluctant to risk lives of others in those unsafe tunnels just to add a few coins to the pile. I will not make the same mistake my grandfather did and let greed dictate my every decision." Rubbing at one eye with the heel of his right hand, Thorin sighed. "I'll think about it tonight and send word first thing in the morning."

"Good. Ravens can't see anything at night, anyway."

"Indeed."

Thorin blew softly on his first spoonful of stew and when he deemed it cool enough, ate it. Luckily, he wasn't looking at Bilbo, who was practically bouncing on his bum as he waited for his intended's reaction and leaning in in what probably looked like a creepy vulture's posture. A tween in the throes of puppy love he was, but he would find some time to be embarrassed about it later.

Thorin's deep hum of contentment almost pulled a giggle from the Baggins inside Bilbo. "You've outdone yourself. I never thought deer could taste so good."

"Oh, you know, it's just a few herbs and stuff, nothing much," Bilbo shrugged, but there was no fighting the blush that invaded his cheeks. After everything they had been through, feeling so pleased over a bowl of stew sounded preposterous, and yet the hobbit left like a little boy who had just given a flower to his sweetheart and got rewarded with a kiss on his chubby cheek.

Satisfied that Thorin liked the food, Bilbo tucked in before his dinner went cold. He had only taken a few bites – good gracious, it was delicious, his mother would be so proud! – when some sort of wet noise reached his ears and tore his attention away from his meal. The sight that met his eyes took a few moments to process.

King Thorin had already finished his stew and, in all of his dignity and majesty, was giving his empty bowl an unhurried but thorough lick to collect every single drop of juice. Lying forgotten by the dwarf's feet, his wooden spoon was clean as the day it was made. Bilbo was blushing again, he knew, and not only because he was deeply flattered by his intended's reaction. The idea of Thorin's tongue delivering such controlled, strong sweeps did funny things to his stomach, and the hobbit soon found himself squirming uncomfortably, wondering when the night had warmed up so much that he felt a bit on the sweaty side.

Thorin soon noticed he was stared at and gave a sheepish half-smile when he mistook Bilbo's frown for a disapproving look. "Sorry. It's just… you are very talented." The dwarf put his bowl down, wiping a few stray drops from his beard with the back of his head after he straightened himself. "Would you happen to have, mh, any left?"

The tentative tone, making Thorin sound as if he was unsure whether he should be shamed by his actions or consider them a mere proof of his appreciation of Bilbo's culinary skills, and dwarven fingers nervously pulling at random blades of grass did the hobbit in and he laughed. "When I left there was a handsome share left, but now I'm not sure. You might have to fight your way through six hungry dwarves to find out."

"Worth the risk. And I need the exercise anyway." Thorin collected his bowl and spoon so hurriedly that a fond smile stretched Bilbo's lips. The hobbit turned his attention back to his own dinner and almost choked on a chunk of meat when a heavy kiss was dropped on his shaggy hair. His head whirled, but Thorin was striding away as if nothing was amiss.

Laughing quietly to himself, Bilbo dug into his bowl with a renewed appetite. All reserved and stern as he might look, Thorin was a far cry from the brooding dwarf who had come to the Shire the previous year. While he was not openly wearing his emotions on his features at all times, and was more inclined to glare than to laugh, Thorin's heart and soul were free of the dark thoughts and snarling demons that had plagued them for decades. Sometimes, Bilbo wondered if the dwarf just needed time to adjust to this new, brightest life and was mentally unable to be completely happy yet. Getting the King to crawl out his shell would be a long, hard, maybe impossible process at times, and so it was a good thing that Bilbo was a very patient hobbit.

If small steps were what it took, alright then. In the end, it would be worth it.

With those considerations warming his heart, Bilbo calmly picked up his spoon to resume eating. When a yelp made him turn his head, and he took in the sight of Kili running off with the still hot cauldron in his hands and his mutinous uncle hot on his heels, the hobbit only chuckled and settled comfortably against the boulder to enjoy the show.

It had been a long while since the last time people fought over Belladonna's Special Sunday Stew, after all.

* * *

"For the last time," Thorin growled, squeezing his reins a little tighter, "we are not going through that accursed forest again."

"We'll waste days riding around it!" Kili countered, spurring his pony on every time she stopped to nip at the grass. "And it's not that dangerous anymore. Fili showed me the reports, the forest is almost back to normal, thanks to the elv-"

"I will say it again, since it appears you have temporary brain damage. We are _not _travelling through that wretched forest again, and that's final."

Kili grunted and began to sulk, reminding Bilbo of a young hobbit being denied a slice of cake. In spite of the childish behavior, his heart went out to the pouting young dwarf. He had seen the way Kili looked at that red-haired Captain, and could understand how the archer thought going through Mirkwood – Greenwood, Bilbo berated himself, _Greenwood_. Holding onto the past, especially when it was unpleasant, never helped moving on – would give him a chance to see the elf again.

It didn't take a wizard to understand how Thorin felt about the whole matter of his nephew mooning over an elf.

Kili brooded for some time, picking at knots and bits of twigs in his pony's mane, before his resentful pout turned into a snake's smirk, if such a thing was heard of the cold-blooded creatures. The closest description Bilbo had in mind was the corner of Smaug's terrific mouth twitching up to reveal sharp teeth, and that was just before the giant drake had tried to gobble him up. Not really a fond memory.

Before Bilbo could warn Thorin, however, Kili's voice was heard again, and the silky undertone only cemented the hobbit's conviction that some kind of mischief was afoot. "Say, Uncle. You are still leaving Fili in charge of this journey, right?"

"I am, yes."

"So… he's the one making the decisions, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I don't see what you… Kili. No."

But Thorin's nephew was already spurring his mount on to get to the front of the group. "Brother! Wait up! There's something I want to tell you!"

Thorin grunted but didn't go after Kili, choosing instead to rub the crease between his eyes with one palm. "It will be a miracle if the next decade sees me with anything other than grey hair on my head," he muttered.

"Well, hopefully they'll match your crown, that'll make for quite a fetching sight," Bilbo chuckled. When Thorin didn't smile, the hobbit reached out to pat the King's broad shoulder. "He is young, and brash, but he is right. Greenwood is not as dangerous as it was when we first went through it. I heard all the webs were gone and their makers along with them, as well as most of the dark spells that plagued the whole place."

"It is not black magic or spiders that make me wary of this forest."

Bilbo's smile dropped. Without making the conscious decision to do so, his hand slid up Thorin's shoulder to grasp a few strands of raven hair and caress them. The dwarf was never going to forget what had happened last time they had dared enter the Woodland Realm. Spiders, hunger, darkness? Time could forego all these memories; even Bilbo had come to make peace and didn't view Greenwood as a nasty expanse of ill-natured vegetation which top priority was finding newer, crueller ways to kill passers-by each day. But no amount of time could mend the cuts in Thorin's pride after the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the Elvenking, and even though Thranduil had redeemed himself during and after the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo understood Thorin's efforts to avoid an encounter with the Sindar.

"This time we have ponies and provisions," the hobbit said soothingly, reaching out as much as he could without falling off of Snowball to tangle his fingers in the silky hair. It hadn't grown into its former length yet, but it was a close thing. "If we stay on the path and only stop for a bit of sleep, we'll reach the other side before any elf takes notice of our presence. And even if they do, well, Erebor is on good terms with the Woodland Realm, right? This time around we are not trespassers, we are doing nothing wrong."

"And last time, we were?"

"Well, you did shout that you were going to drown Thranduil in excrements, or something like that. Now I'm not a specialist when it comes to elven etiquette, but I don't think that's something you can tell the king and expect him to invite you over for tea."

Bilbo felt a pinch of relief when a small smile timidly crept up on Thorin's face. Granted, the King was probably just looking back fondly at how the Khuzdul curse had echoed in the halls of the elven palace, but it was a smile and that meant victory.

"It is just as well. I would have never accepted to have tea with him," Thorin grunted, his shoulder slightly less slumped that they had been earlier.

"Oh, I don't think he would have ever suggested it. Elves must drink from small, delicate cups as white and precious as the stars they worship. Your big paws would make quick work of the fragile things." Bilbo chuckled at the mental image of Thorin having tea in the grass within a circle of elves, holding a very breakable cup of tea between his thumb and forefinger in an effort to avoid crushing the frail ceramic. "I'm afraid your hands were made to hold a tankard of ale rather than those cups."

"That tree-shagger wouldn't be above sacrificing a cup or two for the sake of poisoning me."

"For the love of everything that grows, Thorin! Could you stop using that awful name?" Bilbo seethed, untangling his fingers to give the dwarf's ear a swat before he pulled his hand back to his reins. "Thranduil may not be your friend, but he is your ally. Whether you like it or not, without his people you might very well not have any breath left in you to curse his name!"

Wordlessly, Bofur and Gloin nudged their ponies to put a bit of distance between them and the arguing pair. Whatever fight would blow out, they weren't keen on being caught in the middle of it.

The growl that escaped Thorin would have meant pain and death to whoever was on its receiving end, but Bilbo was not impressed. He had seen true rage and hate in those blue eyes before, burning with such an intensity that he was certain nothing would quite compare to it.

"What, then? You would have me forget what he did to my people? To the company? What he forced upon me?" the dwarf hissed through gritted teeth.

"Of course not. And if you wish to spend your whole life avoiding him, that's fine as well. But try not to act as if he is out to kill you and let it cloud your thoughts. Riding around the forest is nothing short of foolish, and you know it." Bilbo interrupted his speech to steer Snowball carefully around a hole in the path. A badger's work, certainly. "The Elf Path is the quickest and safest way to the Misty Mountains. We would lose days going around it north, and weeks should we travel south. Remember what Gandalf said at the Forest Gate?"

Thorin growled but fell silent. He knew he couldn't measure up to Bilbo when it came to logic and good sense, that much he would admit – only to himself, never others, of course – but the hobbit was surprised by the quick surrender. He hadn't expected the King to see reason at least until the next day.

And at Kili's whoop of triumph, Thorin only emitted the smallest of groans. "Fine," he snapped dourly when it was made clear that Fili had agreed to his brother's request. "But if we are to cross this accursed forest, you," and at this, he jabbed a thick finger in Bilbo's direction, "are not to step further than ten feet away from me. I won't have you swept away by some pointy-eared root-eater, or snacked on by whatever still lives in there."

"I'm tempted to refuse, on account that I can take care of myself just fine, but fair enough."

Satisfied for the time being, Thorin nodded and stayed quiet for the remainder of the day. It was true, after all; the forest was immense, and there was little to no chance for the elves to know of their presence unless they drew attention to them on purpose – likely by setting trees on fire or allowing Kili to sing.

Both of which were not going to happen, if Bilbo had any say in it.

* * *

They couldn't have been into Greenwood for one full hour before Bilbo's beliefs were torn.

The forest looked remarkably healthier than the last time he had been in it. No longer depressing shades of grey splotched with black, the tree were tinged with green and most of them had flowers or even fruits to show for their improvement. Timid flowers were springing from the wet earth, their petals pale and weak but still there for the world to look at. Though still shielding them from most sunrays, enough light filtered through the thick branches to give their surroundings a peaceful and overall quite pleasant undertone.

The raven brothers were content to ride on a broad shoulder or a pony's hindquarters. Their wingspan was so great and the vegetation so dense that flying around had soon become a tedious business, and both Troäc and Caräk had given up on it completely after some time. Thorin's shoulders were their favorite perch, but Troäc – or was it Caräk? They were nearly identical – often took up residence on Bilbo's pack and gave the hobbit a fright when he pecked at his green waistcoat.

The hobbit was in the middle of shooing the feathered nuisance away yet again – he suspected the bird was enjoying seeing him jump – when _they _made themselves known.

They were looking down at the company from low branches, crouching and peering between leaves at the seven dwarves plus one hobbit travelling through the forest. There were three of them, or at least they were the only three elves that Bilbo could see. If more was hiding in the bushes or the trees, he didn't know, but he knew enough about them to think it highly unlikely.

As soon as they were spotted, the three elves hopped down gracefully from the branches and landed almost soundlessly on the road in front of Fili's pony, almost giving the poor beast a heart attack.

One particular elven face brought a groan out of Bilbo when he came across it. This was not going to end well.

"Greetings," Legolas said, his pristine features betraying no emotion as his eyes racked over the small party. When they settled on Thorin, however, Bilbo was under the impression that the elf's lips twitched and formed a thin line. Maybe because the dark-haired dwarf was trying to tear him to shreds with a glare. "Dwarves from Erebor and Bilbo Baggins are a welcome sight in Greenwood, but we were not made aware of your presence here until one hour ago. Nor do we know your purpose in these lands. Is there some matter you wish to discuss with the Elvenking?"

Thorin mumbled something under his breath that Bilbo knew would be nothing short of rude, and the hobbit wondered if the legends about Elves' exceedingly good hearing were true. If Legolas heard the offensive words, he never let it show, but his two companions weren't so good at shielding their emotions. Both dark-haired and dressed in green garments, they were probably brother and sister, for the frowns marring their faces were identical as they looked over at Thorin. Twins even, Bilbo thought, he knew they were not that uncommon amongst Elves.

"We are just passing through," Fili answered politely. "We need to travel across Greenwood to reach the Misty Mountains."

Legolas' grey-blue eyes widened slightly, then narrowed suspiciously. Bilbo knew Thranduil's son was burning to question their motives for such a trip; the newly-forged alliance between his people and the dwarves of Erebor, in spite of many contracts depicting its terms and agreements, was not yet firmly established in the minds of many and general wariness was not uncommon whenever Elves and Dwarves crossed paths in both kingdoms. But both Firstborn and Adopted Children tried their best to at least stay civil, and if Bilbo was a gambling sort of hobbit, he would bet that those efforts were what kept Legolas from outwardly demanding why they were making for the Misty Mountains.

"We haven't received word of goblins being particularly active these days," the fair elf drawled carefully, his sharp eyes travelling from one dwarf to the next, until they rested on Thorin and he quickly adverted them. "Is there some kind of uprising we happen to be unaware of?"

"No, no uprising. We just need to go there, is all." Fili probably didn't trust the elves enough to disclose their motives, or even their real destination. From the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw Thorin's little nod of approval. "Now, if you don't mind, we'll be on our way."

The golden-haired heir didn't try to nudge his pony forward and bypass the three elves, as a more hot-headed dwarf such as his uncle would have done, and patiently waited for his interlocutors' leave.

Legolas nodded. "Very well. Travel safely." He turned around and spoke a few words of Sindarin to his companions, who nodded and came to stand on either side of Fili's pony.

Confused grunts echoed between the trees, but the elves didn't even bat an elegant eyelash.

"What is the meaning of this?" Thorin finally growled, unable to keep quiet any longer and glancing every now and then at his nephew to make sure the two dark-haired beings weren't attempting anything funny.

"Hatholnin and Manwen will accompany you through Greenwood. They will guide you and see you safely to the Forest Gate." Legolas' tone didn't sound like arguing was an option.

But Thorin took his chance anyway. "Are those paths not safe enough? Your report last week indicated that you have successfully destroyed the spider nests."

"True, we did. But it would still be unwise for a group of dwarves to wander alone in a forest that was cursed not so long ago. Especially with their King. I do not wish for you to lose your way and starve."

"We do not need your help," Thorin said gruffly.

"Nor do we give it out of the goodness of our heart," the elf that ought to be Hatholnin snorted. "The Elvenking ordered us to follow Dwarves in Greenwood to ensure no harm comes to the trees or the animals. The forest is recovering, and your kind has the unpleasant tendency to wreck-"

"Hatholnin!" The name was followed by one single harsh elvish word from Legolas and had the annoyed elf falling silent. Long tendrils of dark hair curtained his face but did little to hide his frustrated grimace. Some elves were just more reluctant than others to accept Dwarves as neighbors and allies, Bilbo guessed.

Legolas switched back to Westron to address the fellowship. "Apologies for this. I wish you a safe journey and luck in your endeavors."

The fair-haired elf turned on his heels with one last nod, but had only taken a few steps before he stilled. Thranduil's son shifted his weigh from one leg to the other, staring down at an overgrown daisy patch for a few moments while the party set off once more with Fili bracketed between two sulking elves. When at last Bilbo and Thorin rode past him, Legolas looked up at the dwarven King with something akin to regret in his vibrant eyes.

"Your hair," he breathed, and for a while Bilbo thought he had only dreamt it, "it suits you better this way."

And without warning, the Prince of the Woodland Realm disappeared amongst the trees, leaving Thorin to blink after him atop his pony's back.

Bilbo allowed a small, warm smile to brush his lips. "Well, dear, I think an elf just apologized to you. How does it feel?"

The hobbit laughed when the only answer he got was a loud grunt and Thorin spurred his mount forward to catch up with the rest of their group, looking for all the world as if he had just gotten a hedgehog thrown to his face rather than an apology. And being very uncomfortable about it.

* * *

They were two or three days away from the Forest Gate when the skies opened to unleash entire rivers upon their unsuspecting heads.

Until then, their journey across the forest had been quite uneventful. They rode all day, nibbling on a bit of dried meat every now and then to avoid stopping for lunch. At night they would stop and rest for a few hours until the sun was high enough to light their way, and be off once more. This time around, the path was not concealed or confusing, and stretched out before their eyes so plainly that even a blind dwarf could find his way out of Greenwood.

Hours went by steadily, and with so little distraction that Bilbo felt something he hadn't experienced in a while: boredom. The trees that lined up the path were all very similar, and even the fat, vibrant flowers around their roots failed to catch Bilbo's attention after a while. No sound except the singing of birds filled the air; not even Thorin would hold a conversation that lasted more than five minutes with his burglar, annoyed as he was by the elves' ever present eyes and ears.

Hatholnin and Manwen weren't following the company up close; in fact, most of the time, the two elves couldn't be sighted at all and would leave no hint as to their presence for hours. But Bilbo knew better than to think that they were gone; Kili had made that mistake the day following their encounter. The young archer had tried to shoot a deer for the evening meal, only to have his arrow swung to the side and snapped in two by a gleaming elven sword. With a brisk reminder that animals were to be left alone, their elven escort had disappeared as swiftly as it had come out of nowhere.

Walking from tree to tree, hiding in the bushes… they could be anywhere. At night, Bilbo could hear the two of them whispering while everybody slept, but in broad daylight he couldn't spot them and use their graceful movements as a distraction from the long, dreary walk through Greenwood.

As strongly as he wished for something to happen and sweep him away from the realm of boredom, Bilbo wasn't sure cold, hard rain was any improvement.

"Blast it," Bofur mourned as he held his pipe up. "And I've just had it lit, too."

"We will soon have more than pipes to worry about," Thorin said as he peered up at the sky between thick branches. "We'll be drenched to the bone within minutes, and our supplies won't fare better. We must find shelter for the night."

"Uncle, look! A cave!"

Kili's eyes were sharper than ever; indeed, at the foot of what looked like a little hill, rock showed beneath grass and opened in a dark passage. From where they stood, there was no telling if the small cave was deep enough to accommodate them all, but it was worth a try.

The dwarves urged their ponies off of the path and made a bee line for the mouth of the cavern. Bilbo noted with instant relief that there would be enough space to fit all of them – elves included – inside, but some worry crept into his heart when his eyes plunged into the depths of the cave. He remembered Thorin's words, back when they were in the Misty Mountains, about shelters such as these being seldom unoccupied. The hobbit's hand instinctively flew to his pocket to stroke his magic ring absently.

His companions, however, had no such preoccupations. They had dismounted and unloaded their supplies from their ponies' backs quicker than it usually took Bombur to whip up an apple pie. Saddles and packs were being piled up on one side of the cave when Bilbo finally set foot on the ground and tied Snowball to a nearby tree.

"I'll take care of this, go and join the others," Thorin grunted as Bilbo began to undo the ties holding his pack in place.

The dwarf practically ripped both bag and saddle off of Snowball before Bilbo could protest, and the two of them reached the cave together. And just in time, too, for seconds later the fat droplets of water turned into thick wet ropes pouring down from the heavens.

Thorin deposited Bilbo's pack and saddle next to the others. His dark hair was thoroughly soaked and clung to his skull, tiny rivulets sliding down his forehead and past his cheeks to drip water from his beard onto the cave's hard ground. With his clothing damp and in disarray, he reminded Bilbo of a stray dog caught in a sudden summer downpour, and the picture was completed when Thorin shook himself to get rid of the excess water.

"Something funny?" the dwarf asked when his intended laughed.

"Yes. I mean no, I… you are very wet, you know?"

"So it seems. I wouldn't mind a fire to dry my pants and warm my bones. I will see what firewood I can gather."

Before long, Thorin and his nephews had snatched enough wood from the outskirts of their shelter to build up a nice fire. Wet wood was a pain to light up, but Gloin worked hard and minutes later, strong flames illuminated the mouth of the cave and cast their shadows on the walls. It came as a relief, too, for the rain brought a chill to the air and Bilbo's breaths came out in white puffs of mist. Shivering a little, the hobbit searched through his pack for a change of clothing and wandered off a bit further down the cave to shed his wet garments in private.

When Bilbo walked back to the fire, all dry and comfortable in a blue tunic and grey pants that reached all the way down to his ankles, he noticed that the dwarves had followed his lead and changed into dry clothes. They had laid out their drenched clothing on a flat, large stone for them to dry in the night, and had gathered around the fire to munch on dried strips of salted beef.

Except one stubborn dwarf, of course.

"You intend to keep those wet clothes all night?" the hobbit asked Thorin as he draped his waistcoat and pants alongside the other garments on the flat stone.

"It's either that, or walking around in the nude," Thorin said flatly, trying to tug one of his soggy boots off without much success. "As you so kindly pointed out when we started this journey, I haven't brought a proper change of clothing, so I have nothing dry to change into."

Bilbo quickly glanced over at the rest of the company; did any of them bring more than one spare set of clothing? Somehow, he doubted it. "I brought two blankets, you could use one while your clothing dries," he offered, eyeing the way Thorin's tunic clung to his broad shoulders with commiseration. And no small amount of interest, too.

"I will not be seen wandering about clad in nothing but a blanket. Besides, my pants are relatively unharmed, I just need to stand close to the fire for a few moments."

"But your tunic is soaked through! You're in for a very uncomfortable night." When that didn't seem to bother Thorin, Bilbo crossed his arms and laid down his last resort. "I'm not sleeping next to you if you're wet and cold, mark my words."

Thorin stilled and Bilbo saw the dwarf's shoulders tense noticeably. He bit back a grin of victory, not counting his tomatoes before they were harvested, but soon enough the King sighed. "Fine. But I'll only wear the damn thing to sleep, and that's the end of it."

"Fair enough. Dinner, then."

Dinner turned out to be a quiet, quick affair. With lack of fresh meat or even fruit in the recovering forest, the dwarves feasted on salted meat and slightly moldy cheese. Everyone yearned to be out of Greenwood for a bit of hunting and a visit to Beorn's house for some well-deserved honey cakes. But they all wolfed down their food and, after one last complaint from Kili about Tauriel not being the one to escort them through the forest – the young lad was driving the whole company mad every night with his lovesick sighs – settled their bedrolls around the mouth of the cave.

Bofur took first watch. It had become some kind of habit for the toy maker to sit next to the fire and work on a block of wood or a piece of leather, his teeth clamped down on a steaming pipe, while everybody crossed from this world to the realms of slumber. The ravens, curious creatures that they were, would saunter up on his shoulders – or even atop his floppy hat – to observe his work and sometimes try to peck at Bofur's shiny tools. The good-natured dwarf would just chuckle and pet the great birds' feathers until they eventually grew bored and went back to chasing insects around the fire.

This night was no different, except that Bofur's pipe was missing and Troäc and Caräk were busy preening their damp feathers in a corner. Outside, rain was still falling in heavy curtains through the trees, quickly turning dirt to mud and Bilbo suddenly pitied their ponies. Even though the beasts were accustomed to harsh weather and even harsher working conditions, his gentle hobbit heart felt for them.

Bilbo was considering grabbing a blanket to hide under and brave the rain to give Snowball a few comforting pats when a soft clicking sound made him turn around and stare in the depths of the dark cave once more. He was almost certain he hadn't imagined it; then again, with all that rain pounding holes into the dirt outside, it could very well have been all in his mind. Was something lurking back there? Or was he just so weary that his ears were playing tricks on him?

Either way, and although the sound didn't occur a second time, Bilbo nervously plucked his bedroll from his pack and padded over to the one source of comfort that would ground him and forego any bad feelings he might have about the dark tunnel.

"Still wearing that wet tunic? Thorin, I thought you knew better," the hobbit said with faked assurance as he sat down next to the dwarf, maybe closer than he usually would. But no complain came from the King.

"I am fine."

"And what are you writing?" Bilbo asked as he peered over one massive arm at the piece of parchment Thorin was currently scribbling on. "Goodness, Thorin, surely you won't send a poor raven out in this weather?"

The dwarf shook his head with a chuckle. "No, âzyungel, I won't. But I need this letter to be sent as soon as the rain stops."

"What is it about? Will you send it to Erebor?"

"Mahal, hobbits are curious little creatures, aren't they? Should I be glad that your nose is so small, so skilled that you are at poking it into other people's business?" Thorin caught the hand that meant to swat him and brushed his whiskered lips against its fingers – unknowingly sending a tingle through those very digits – before he pursued. "This letter carries my greetings and a request for hospitality to someone we will meet on the road."

Bilbo snorted. "I don't think Beorn would care for such a letter. He fought by your side and carried you out of the battlefield after you were wounded, I doubt he would mind having us over for a good night's sleep and a few honeycombs. Eru, I don't even know if he can read."

"I was not talking about the skin-changer. The person I have in mind is quite dramatically less hairy, though I wager he likes woods and animals just as much as your bear friend."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "You are writing a letter to _Lord Elrond_? In Rivendell?" The hobbit clamped a hand over his mouth when he realized he had squeaked that last part quite loudly, but a quick look around informed him that his companions were still snoring peacefully. When he spoke again, his voice was very quiet, but still carried surprise. "Is it true?"

"Yes. Our stay in Rivendell one year ago was shadowed with doubt and mistrust on my part and most of the company's, I am afraid we treated our hosts with very little respect and gratefulness for their hospitality. I wish to express my thanks properly and prove that Dwarves can be decent guests."

"First you forbid access to dangerous gold veins, then you allow two elves to accompany us through Greenwood without throwing a snarling fit, and now, _now _you're writing a letter to the Lord of Imladris to thank him and ask if, pretty please, we could spend the night in Rivendell?" Bilbo laughed under his breath. "Who are you, and what have you done to Thorin II Oakenshield?"

Thorin huffed and rolled up his parchment, stashing it away with quill and ink in his rucksack. "Don't be ridiculous," he rumbled, but Bilbo caught an amused glint in the King's blue eyes. "I am only doing this because Lord Elrond helped us on our quest. He provided us with food, shelter and hindsight through his ability to read Moon Runes. As far as Elves go, he is… acceptable."

"My, has the King Under the Mountain taken a liking to a low-life elf?" Bilbo teased, clutching his bedroll tight to his chest when a small breeze swept in and its cold fingers trailed viciously between tunic and skin. Summer nights weren't supposed to be so chilly.

"I said I tolerate him, never that I liked him. Are you shivering, kurdel?"

"You have to stop calling me names I don't understand," Bilbo replied, and by some miracle his teeth weren't chattering. "But I admit this is a rather cold night, unexpectedly so even with the rain." Unconsciously, Bilbo's eyes travelled back to the unknown, seemingly never-ending depths of the cave. Something down there was calling to him, pleading with him, like the languid purr of a sly cat luring people closer for a belly rub, stretched out on its back like an offering. But cats had claws, and Bilbo was afraid of getting scratched.

A voice whispered in his ear that he wouldn't get hurt if he couldn't be seen, and for the second time that evening, the hobbit's fingers flew to his pocket to glide over his ring. As his skin ghosted over cold gold, the voice got louder, sweeter, all promises of safety and comfort. His pointer finger circled the ring of metal and slowly, ever so slowly, dipped in…

A strong hand landing on Bilbo's shoulder shook the shireling out of his near-trance and startled his hand out of his pocket. "Come on, let us get some rest," Thorin's deep voice muttered, chasing off the disturbing whispers and replacing them with the pleasant promise of a warm night.

Bilbo nodded and unfolded his – their – bedroll some distance away from the fire. Once, back when they were travelling in the Lone-Lands, he had rolled over in his sleep and had almost singed his whole hand in the flames. Since then he had always slept on the outskirts of camp, for fear that he might one day wake up to the scent of charred flesh.

Quickly, he dug his two blankets out of his pack and threw one to Thorin, who nodded his thanks. Then Bilbo plopped down on their bedroll and sighed when his tired legs were relieved of his weight. In his months spent sorting through ancient tomes in the library of Erebor, and in spite of the amount of stairs in the dwarven city, he had neglected to exercise every now and then and much preferred to write in the privacy of his rooms. Something his body was presently feeling the effects of.

After a yawn and a mental note to try and stay in good shape – one or two walks to Dale for tea with Lord Bard per week should do it – Bilbo spread his blanket over his body and squirmed until he was comfortably lying on his side. He closed his eyes and waited patiently for Thorin to come join him.

There was a muffled curse and a few wet noises at his back as Thorin tried to shrug off the sodden tunic, then soft footfalls as the dwarf made his way across camp, probably to leave his clothing to dry alongside the others. Bilbo fought the urge to roll over and spy on a bare-chested, bare-footed Thorin, his toes curling sporadically under the blanket.

He didn't know which sight would entice him more; a stout, strong chest or broad feet. Both would be entirely new, anyway, since Thorin had yet to take off his boots and his socks in his presence and Bilbo had only been allowed a glimpse at the King's upper body – but that had been long ago, and at that time Thorin's chest and shoulders had been burdened with blood-soaked bandages. He wondered if a small peek over his shoulder would be considered a breach of propriety. After all, they were courting, certainly there was no harm…

Bilbo was about to give in and sneak a glance when the weight of a second blanket fell upon him. Confused, he was about to turn around when a larger, warmer body crawled beneath the covers and settled against his back, sending whatever questions had been on Bilbo's tongue to a faraway place and taking his wits along for the ride.

"My hair is still a bit damp, does it bother you?" Thorin whispered.

Bilbo swallowed and shook his head, not trusting his voice at the moment. Of all the things he had thought could happen that night, cuddling up to a bare-chested Thorin was far off the list. And yet, there was no denying the solid flesh cushioning his back nor the soft hair tickling the back of his neck. Legs that were longer than his slotted in the crooks of his knees and Bilbo's breath caught when he felt the lightest brush of bare toes against his calloused heels.

His heart, beating fast enough for Hamfast Gamgee to dance a jig along with it, tightened when Thorin twisted one bulky arm under his head for him to use as a makeshift pillow. His cheek pressed up on a dwarven bicep, Bilbo was greeted with the sight of a forearm stretched out on the ground before him, covered with a light dusting of black hair and white, faded scars. Bilbo tried to distract his troubled mind by counting them and trying to imagine what had caused them – that one was clearly a bite, though he didn't know about the pale blotch in the elbow. Hot poker, maybe? – but the weight of a large hand on his waist and the ghost of a content sigh against the tip of his ear did him in.

Thorin gave a strangled yelp when Bilbo turned around in his arms and pressed up against his chest. "What are you doing?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'm getting comfortable, be quiet."

Before the dwarf could protest further, Bilbo buried his face into the warm expanse of flesh before him, using one hand to stroke the light pelt there from neck to stomach. "So soft," he breathed on his third way down, and felt muscles turn to rock under his questing fingers.

"Bilbo…" Though low, Thorin's voice carried a clear warning. "We can't-"

"We are not doing anything, you silly dwarf, I'm just getting ready to sleep." To emphasize his point, Bilbo snuggled up into the larger body, nestling his cheek into the crook of a broad shoulder and wriggling one of his large feet between warmer, and considerably smoother ones. "Besides, were we to… explore a little bit more, nobody would see. You have your back to the rest of the group. I know, I know," he added hurriedly when Thorin made to pull away, "it's not about that. Dwarven traditions and all, I get it."

Thorin fell silent. Bilbo mentally smacked himself and cursed his Tookish tongue. The last thing he needed was for his suitor to think he believed dwarven traditions and courting to be silly things.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling around for a while until his hand rested on Thorin's bearded cheek and his head was tucked under the King's chin. "I'm not used to this. Being courted, I mean. If I sometimes move too fast and you feel I'm pressuring you into something you are not ready for, then of course, you must tell me. But darn it, you are not making it easy!"

Suddenly both of Thorin's arms circled the hobbit's waist and Bilbo was pulled firmly against a solid dwarven chest with a small noise of surprise. "Neither are you, beloved," Thorin said huskily, his words hoarse and hot in Bilbo's ear. "You have no idea how I burn to drag you off to a secluded corner and love you until you are nothing but a lump of melting flesh between my hands, your mind so thoroughly ravished that you can only remember how to say my name." Thorin pulled away so that Bilbo could gaze into his eyes, but the fire that had been present in his words was nowhere to be found in those deep pools, replaced by fondness. "But this day has not yet come. You are my treasure, my soul, my âzyungel. I would sooner die than deny you the care and respect that a proper courtship requires, and that you deserve."

Shocked into silence, Bilbo wriggled down in Thorin's grasp to snuggle into the dwarf's chest again and hide his growing blush. Trust his suitor to make him feel like he was worth all the gold in Erebor with just a few words.

"For someone who is not skilled with words, you have quite the silver tongue," he mumbled into Thorin's collarbone. A small smile made its way on his lips when the dwarf chuckled and wrapped his arms around the shorter body pressed against his. "And quite a lovely chest, as well. Irresistible, almost."

"Should I put my tunic back on and spare you the temptation?"

"No, thank you, it's still wet and I promise to behave. Your virtue is safe with me."

Yawning, Bilbo settled his head down on Thorin's arm and sighed when thick fingers carded through his unruly hair. He found the gesture so soothing that he was dozing off within minutes, though not before he pressed a sloppy kiss under Thorin's chin where he could feel a strong heart pulse.

"Goodnight, my King."

"Rest well, âzyungel. I will keep you safe," the dwarf whispered back, sealing his promise with a kiss on his hobbit's forehead.

* * *

In the small hours of the next day, Thorin awoke brutally to the sound of his oath shattering into a thousand pieces, as a scream was torn from Bilbo's throat.


	7. Spawn of Darkness

**CHAPTER 6**

**Spawn of Darkness**

When Bilbo was ripped from the fortress of his arms, Thorin lunged forward but only clawed at cold stone, the hobbit's body already out of reach.

"Thorin!" Bilbo screamed, hands outstretched helplessly as he was dragged down in the depths of the cave by his feet, and at an alarming speed.

"Kili!" the dwarven King roared, but his nephew was already miles ahead. The young dwarf had snatched an arrow and burnt its tip, shooting it down the cave where it embedded itself in the wall and shone light upon Bilbo's aggressor.

All blood fled Thorin's face when he caught sight of the spider.

Another anguished wail from Bilbo snapped him back to attention and he dove for Orcrist. All around him his companions were also grabbing their weapons, all thoughts of sleep gone from their minds as the danger Bilbo was in spurred them on.

Taking one burning branch from their fire, Thorin brandished it towards the darkness lying in front of them. And it didn't matter if tiny embers were falling on his arm and scorching his skin. "This way!" he thundered and, without waiting for anyone's opinion, he all but ran after the monster and its precious prey.

He should have never let Bilbo sleep on this side of the cavern! Truly, he was a fool for even forgetting the most basic rules of survival and neglecting to inspect the cave thoroughly. If he had, he would have noticed the eight-legged abomination and brought an end to its life before it could even think of touching his beloved Bilbo.

Thorin had been lured into a false state of peace by the hobbit's soft breathing and enticing body. With a fire to warm his back and Bilbo curled up against his front, the dwarf had let his guard down so dramatically that he hadn't reacted quickly enough when his intended had been torn from his embrace. He should have known better, should have watched over Bilbo with more tenacity instead of dozing off like an inexperienced dwarfling.

Later, there would be time to berate himself later, when Bilbo was safe and not waiting to be eaten up by a giant spider.

Guided by the flickering light from his makeshift torch and Bilbo's calls – which tore at his heart but had the odd advantage of proving that the hobbit was still alive and kicking – Thorin charged into the black depths of the tunnel. It ran deeper than expected, and the more he walked on, the narrower the passage became, with sticky webs adorning the walls.

Something crunched under Thorin's bare foot – he hadn't bothered to put on his boots in his haste – and the King's stomach lurched unpleasantly at the sight of a mangled skull that once belonged to a deer. He would not leave Bilbo to be gnawed on by this foul beast until the only thing that remained of his hobbit was a bone or two.

Pressing ever forward with blood pounding in his ears hard enough to make his sight foggy, Thorin ran and ran, guided by the diminishing light of his torch, until he almost hit the wall at the end of the cave head-on. Disoriented, the dwarf turned on the spot, searching every nook and cranny with sharp eyes as worry flooded his brain and hate fuelled his muscles.

_Where is that damn beast? It can't have just vanished! _

A strangled yelp from above made Thorin snap his neck up and he was relieved – though horrified at the same time – to spot the eight-eyed abomination hanging from the ceiling with a squirming Bilbo in its grasp.

The spider was, if such a thing could be said about those creatures, a bit slow and clumsy in its attempts to wrap Bilbo up in a web cocoon. Only the hobbit's kicking feet were covered in the sticky stuff, with a few strands running up his legs to cling to his hips. Every time Bilbo wriggled or screamed to get away from the spider, it had to readjust its grip on its prey and begin the whole process again.

They were running low on time.

"Kili!" Thorin bellowed. "Shoot it down! Kill it!"

The archer's first arrow flew off before the words were even out of Thorin's mouth, but only struck the wall with a clank, missing its target by a good foot and pulling outraged yelps out of the dwarves present. With a frustrated growl, Kili shot another arrow with fierce determination, only to watch it imbed itself in a nest of sticky cobwebs between two of the creature's legs.

"Kili, _shoot it_!" Thorin howled, but where before had been fury and determination, now only remained despair.

"I'm trying!" Kili bit back, with a tinge of the same horror that coated his uncle's voice.

The dying light from Thorin's torch only served to make the monster's movements seem even quicker and unpredictable. Hence the loss of many arrows on Kili's side, all of which either found a new home in some nook in the wall or remained lost to the darkness.

The whole company soon panicked and began throwing whatever they could lay a hand on at the spider. Rocks, wood, fragments of bones, anything was good enough to distract the beast from the small prey in its clutches. Fiercest of all, Thorin waved his torch about and shouted at the top of his lungs, both in Westron and Khuzdul, words that probably would have earned him a week's worth of ear-boxing by his mother. But Bilbo's life was at stake and if the price to save him was a few days of sore throat, then Thorin would gladly pay it.

"Release him, you foul beast!" he yelled as rocks of all shapes and sized rained down on the creature. "Give him back! Back you spawn of darkness!"

All around him the rest of the group all yelled similar things, relentless in throwing everything they could grab, but Thorin only had eyes and ears for the struggling form of his intended in the spider's claws.

Bilbo was hanging upside down most of the time, when he wasn't being jostled this way and that and covered in a fresh layer of milky silk. He had stopped screaming some while ago, choosing instead to twist and squirm valiantly to get free. To no success at all, obviously. The utter dread that flashed across the hobbit's face whenever light shone upon his features sent a cold pike through Thorin's heart, and the dwarf assaulted the spider with renewed effort. If only to see Bilbo's face free of despair.

For a while, it seemed to work. The spider was distracted long enough for Bilbo to slip down on a few occasions, each time a bit lower than the last, but the monster always dragged its half-wrapped bundle right back up.

Then, something that could have occurred in one of Thorin's worst nightmares took place.

Whether the spider got tired of Bilbo's squirming or annoyed by the small items thrown at it, nobody knew. The fact remained that, with a hiss and a menacing snap of jaws, the spider clutched the shireling with four of its legs while the four others remained spread out on the walls of the cave.

Before anything could be done about it, the beast shoved its sting right into Bilbo's midsection.

Time and space suddenly froze all around Thorin. A horrible scream, halfway between a shriek and a pained wail rang out, echoing off every single wall and piercing the dwarf's ears as though it was a knife being driven through his eardrums. Even scarier was the fact that the sound was coming from his own mouth.

The King didn't even register as horrified shouts and terrified calls of Bilbo's name erupted all around him. He heard them, but as though he was swimming underwater. He was only vaguely aware of somebody, possibly Fili, pushing past him and a large hand, no doubt Dwalin's, coming down on his shoulder to clutch it.

Nothing could have torn Thorin's eyes from Bilbo's suddenly very still figure.

Thorin's mind stayed blank and unresponsive for a few moments. But when his thoughts and the reality of what had just transpired kicked in, white, hot rage consumed his entire being. It started low in his belly, a pool of lava quickly setting his chest aflame and burning its way up his throat to escape the confines of his body in the form of a broken, heart-splitting roar.

The spider turned partially milky eyes to stare at the dwarf.

_That's right, _Thorin thought, anger clouding his mind and sending little tremors down the steel curve of his spine. _That's right, you monster. Look at death right in the eye, as it comes to you! _

With something akin to a battle cry, Thorin pulled his arm back and flung Orcrist at the creature with all of his strength. A sharp pang of pain speared through his shoulder, soon to be erased by grim satisfaction as the sword dug deep into the spider's hairy abdomen and remained stuck there.

Letting out a blood-freezing shriek, the beast reared and its legs flailed about, as if it didn't control them anymore. As such, Bilbo's body slipped out of its grasp and fell to the ground several feet below with a thud.

The spider's massive weight soon followed but unlike its prey, the heir of Ungoliant landed on its legs and towered over the hobbit's prone figure although Thorin had expected it to writhe and draw its last, disgusting breath.

Gleaming in the light of the dying fire, Orcrist was still lodged deep in the monstrosity's underside, undisturbed by the sudden drop. Deep enough, for sure, but not so well-placed that it could hit something vital or bleed to spider to death. If anything, the sword slicing through its flabby flesh had only succeeded in making it angrier.

Leaving Bilbo in the relative dampness of the cave's uneven ground, the spider turned around to face the company. Thorin's torch was about to go out, and their hopes with it – for the creature knew the cave better than they did and would certainly have the upper hand were a fight to take place in complete darkness – but there was still enough light left to see the promise of a long, agonizing death in the long-legged menace's eyes.

Kili was out of arrows and the other dwarves had thrown everything they could. Was it really going to end like this? They had survived the year-long quest to reclaim Erebor. They had lived through the greatest battle of the century, had been victorious and escaped with relatively minor injuries. Had fate decided that the line of Durin would have to fight and suffer through those ordeals only to die in a secluded cave, cut off from the rest of the world, with a venomous sting spearing them to the wall?

Thorin just managed to get one last look at his nephews' terrified faces, before the spider lunged, and the light went out.

The dwarven King wondered if, somehow, Bilbo had earned the right to visit the Halls of Mahal. If not, well, he would just have to escape and break into… wherever hobbits went after they died. Of this, he had no idea.

Weaponless and blind, Thorin raised clenched fists in front of his face. Certainty of death or not, it would not be sung that the King Under the Mountain went down without a fight. Though he doubted there would be enough left of his body to sing about by the end of the next day, or that his people would ever find out about their whereabouts.

He waited and waited. But the fatal blow never came.

All around him, Thorin could hear confused whispers, and Dwalin's cursing about beasts liking to play with their food before they ate it. The heavy silence was deafening, and Thorin waited in fevered trepidation, beads of cold sweat running down his still bare back and bathing the sides of his face.

"This creature looks familiar."

The sudden, clear voice made Thorin jump and tore strangled yelps from the rest of the company, as well as a loud Khuzdul curse from Fili. Agitation wore down when the dwarves realized who had spoken.

No wonder the spider hadn't attacked.

"Indeed, Manwen. That crescent-shaped pattern on its back could not be easily forgotten. We have hunted this one before, in the Mountains. Its wounds must have not been fatal."

"Linnir scouted the Mountains one month ago. He said that they were rid of all evil."

"Alas, sister. Evil has eyes to see danger and powerful legs to flee it, I am afraid."

"Could ye please stop talkin' as if we weren't here?" Bofur exclaimed when it didn't look as though the elves were going to acknowledge them anytime soon.

"Oh. Apologies."

There was some shuffling and a soft, bluish glow bloomed into what turned out to be one of the elves' hand. It slowly grew brighter, and within a few seconds cast enough light for Thorin to see the features of the dwarves standing closest to him. As well as the feathered arrows jutting out from between the spider's dead eyes.

The tree-shaggers' accuracy in the dark was spectacular, he had to give them that.

"It seems my sister and I arrived just in time," Hatholnin drawled, and Thorin noted that the eerie blue light was coming from a small crystal vial when the elf twirled it in his long, elegant fingers. "A pity, though, that we couldn't save the halfling."

Bilbo!

Thorin whirled around and half-jumped, half-climbed over the spider's corpse to reach the hobbit-shaped lump behind it. He gathered Bilbo's body in his arms and was downright frightened to find it limp and unresponsive. Splaying a hand on the smaller chest, he was met with a slimy substance that he didn't dare identify just yet, but which warmth made dread pool in his stomach.

He needed more light to properly assess the damage done and – he couldn't bring himself to formulate the thought completely lest he broke down – whether or not his intended would live to see the next day.

Without a single word, Thorin lifted Bilbo up as though he weighed no more than a handful of sand and stomped toward the mouth of the cave where their fire and a rising sun would provide more help than silly glowing elven vials. Equally silent, Fili and Kili were hot on his heels, and Thorin could feel the same despair that inhabited his heart coming off in waves from his nephews.

The budding lights of dawn guided him out of the spider's lair and even though his mind was nothing but a raging inferno, he managed to settle Bilbo down with the care that the hobbit's condition required.

"Is that blood on his tunic?" Kili whispered, too afraid to step any closer than beside the fire where he had stopped.

His older brother, who appeared just as concerned but less wary, knelt beside Bilbo when Thorin did. "It doesn't look like blood, it's too dark," Fili mused, not quite touching Bilbo just yet and settling for racking his gaze all over the smaller body. "Whatever this is, it can't be good."

The mess on Bilbo's chest and the tunic itself prevented Thorin from seeing the actual injury. Although his mind reeled at the thought of a hole in his beloved's stomach, his hands dove for the hem of the blue tunic.

Trembling fingers struggled with the fastenings which were glued together by the dark substance coating the clothes. Thorin's patience finally snapped and he grabbed the tunic with both hands, ripping fabric apart along with the strands of cobweb clinging to it.

Where he had expected pale, blood-smeared flesh, only shiny silver mail met his eye.

Smooth and dazzling save for a black blotch around the midsection, the mithril shirt was still a little too big for Bilbo despite several months of hearty meals in Erebor. It clung loosely to narrow shoulders and cascaded down to the hobbit's tummy, where it had been hiked up by Thorin's violent tugs to reveal a hint of bare skin above the waistband of Bilbo's pants.

Magnificent. And intact.

Thorin ran his hand down the mithril chainmail once more, kept silent by shock and puzzlement as he met no hole or tear. Sharply, he lifted the glittering garment to peer at Bilbo's bare chest. With the exception of a fist-sized red mark on the stomach, that would doubtlessly bruise later, the skin there remained unblemished. The dwarf ran gentle, bewildered fingers down the hobbit's belly to feel whole, soft skin.

Lost in thoughts, the blood pounding in his ears and the sound of heavy rain almost too much to bear, little mattered to Thorin other than the warm flesh beneath his touch. He was just coming back to his senses when the chest he was absently stroking heaved brutally.

"Ah!" Bilbo came to with a gasp and a strangled scream. Had Thorin's hand not been pushing down on his chest, he would have shot straight up. Instead, he just stayed spread out on the cold, damp ground, his eyes wild and uneven pants coming out in sharp rasps.

Those hazel orbs met Thorin's as they bounced back and forth, and Bilbo's fright calmed down considerably.

"Tho… Thorin," the shireling croaked, his right hand coming up to clutch the dwarf's forearm as he tried to pull himself up.

Hearing his name on Bilbo's lips grounded Thorin and instant relief washed over his heart and soothed his raging mind. His hobbit yet lived to draw breath.

"Yes, beloved," he whispered, running fingers in Bilbo's sweat-soaked curls to comb them away from his eyes. "You are safe now. I have you."

Bilbo shook his head. "No… Thorin… listen… there is… there's…"

"What is it, âzyungel?"

"There's… a spider… back there, in the cave… it's big… be careful."

His mission seemingly accomplished, Bilbo let go of Thorin's forearm and fell back down to the ground where he panted, his eyes closed and his mouth open in aftershock of his latest dance with death.

Thorin fought the urge to laugh with all his might and leaned over, pressing a relieved kiss to Bilbo's forehead. He repeated the gesture when it brought a soft noise of protest from the hobbit, if only to confirm that he was alive and mostly unharmed, and quickly gathered him up in his arms again to carry him to their bedroll. Bilbo whined quietly and curled up against Thorin's bare chest, little tremors running up and down his body. The movement caused some of the dark substance, that the dwarf now thought was spider venom, to drip onto the ground.

"We will get you clean and rested before we depart again," Thorin muttered as he laid Bilbo down on the bedroll. Footsteps indicated the arrival of the rest of the company, soon followed by Kili's enthusiastic exclamations about Bilbo being alive and uninjured. "Lift your arms, now."

Bilbo obeyed and let the dwarf tug the venom-covered mithril shirt up and off his body. As soon as the soiled chainmail was off, the hobbit shivered, and Thorin quickly dragged a blanket over Bilbo's frame.

"Thank you," the shireling mouthed.

"You have nothing to thank me for," the King replied, taking a seat next to his intended. "Especially not when I have failed to protect you as I swore to."

"It's not your fault." With a weak smile, Bilbo's hand wriggled out from under the blanket to rest upon Thorin's on the ground. "Nobody could have prevented this."

"I could. I should have scouted the cave before we went to sleep. I should have held you tighter when the beast came for you. I should have protected you better than that."

"You did protect me, Thorin." Bilbo squeezed the dwarf's hand. "The mithril chainmail… it was a gift. From you. Or don't you remember pestering me into wearing it every time I set foot out of Erebor?" The hobbit chuckled, though it came out as a wheeze. "Well, I did. Thanks to you. Now, could you do me a favor?"

"Anything, âzyungel."

"Put on a shirt. I'm trying to regain control over my breathing and you are not helping."

With a mock snort, Thorin leaned over to press his forehead to Bilbo's for a moment. The hobbit was alive, and well enough if he could make jokes.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached Thorin's ears. He raised his head, expecting his nephews or other dwarves to come check up on Bilbo, but frowned when he caught sight of two pointy-eared nuisances.

"You," he growled, letting go of Bilbo's hand so that he could stand up. He knew he wasn't a particularly impressive sight, bare-chested and still wobbly from the attack on Bilbo, but he made himself as tall as he could. "You were supposed to rid the forest of those foul beasts. I should have never trusted you."

"We have just saved your lives," Hatholnin said evenly, though not without a nice amount of scorn. "I have heard that Dwarves were grateful creatures. Obviously, whoever made that statement, they were sorely mistaken."

"That spawn of evil should have never been there in the first place!" Thorin snarled. He ignored Bilbo's call for him to calm down and advanced on the elves. "That you allowed it to build a nest so close to the road is unacceptable! Am I to understand that your reports are just lies fomented by your wretched King to lure me into a false sense of security?"

Something flashed in Hatholnin eyes. "Watch your tongue, dwarf. Or you might lose it."

"_You_ watch your tongue, lad!" Dwalin growled, stomping over to them. "You're speaking to the King!"

"He is no King of mine. I'll speak however I wish to."

Thorin was about to bite back something nasty when Manwen laid a hand on her brother's chest. "Peace, Hatholnin. You are being disrespectful." The graceful elven maid then stepped forth until she was standing directly in front of the dwarf. "We could not have foreseen the presence of the spider near you last night, we cannot be held accountable for the location of its nest. Nevertheless, we wandered too far away when we should have been at your side, as we were given the mission of seeing your company through the forest unharmed. We have neglected your safety, King Thorin, and for this failure we offer our deepest apologies."

As if this wasn't enough, Manwen dropped down on one knee and bowed her head low. Thorin knew he was probably wearing the same scandalized expression that etched over Hatholnin's face when his sister gave him an insistent glare and the elven warrior imitated her.

Suddenly at a loss for words, Thorin's mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. He had to say something, anything, to reclaim the control that the elves had snatched from him by kneeling down, but every single comment died on his lips.

He had to be quite the comical sight, since he caught Fili and Bofur attempting to hide smirks in their sleeves – and doing a poor job of it.

"I suppose," he drawled reluctantly, "that this twist of fate could not be avoided. A lone spider hiding away must be easy to miss. I am… thankful, that you arrived when you did. Master Baggins' life has been spared and that is all that matters."

Thorin turned away to gaze at something amidst the heavy curtains of rain still digging holes into the dirt outside. He didn't want to see the triumphant smiles on the elves' faces at his words. "Be ready to leave at moment's notice. I don't wish to linger here more than I have to."

He stomped away to fetch his tunic and some food for Bilbo.

Three elves had apologized to him in the course of a single week. Never before had this happened in his entire life. And Thorin hated how helpless it made him feel.


	8. Of Rivers and Misconceptions

**CHAPTER 7**

**Of Rivers and Misconceptions**

The rain didn't let up until they were on the other side of Greenwood, standing under a Forest Gate restored to its full glory.

The two trees that formed the arch-like opening were still covered in blackish lichen and vibrant ivy, but they looked remarkably healthier than when Bilbo had first seen them. At least they were free of those dark vines and no longer suffocated under the curses thrown over the forest.

The white statue and the fountain that sat next to it had been rid of their mysterious red markings. Was it a result of the dark magic wearing off, or just a few days of hard rain, Bilbo didn't know, but he found them quite lovely. The way they shone under the bright Sun that had taken residence in the skies for the previous hour or so appealed to his eyes.

The day was still young, yet Bilbo was weary. The incident with the spider, though still fresh in his mind, had occurred two days prior and had dissuaded Thorin from sleeping in Greenwood ever again. The King had taken the reins of the company – in spite of Fili's protests – and had worked the lot of them like dogs to reach the other side of the large forest. The dwarves hadn't complained and had spurred their ponies on as though Durin's Bane itself was coming after them.

So under the rain they rode, shielding their supplies as best as they could with blankets or their own bodies. Not that there was much left to get soaked, anyway; only a handful of dried fruit each, along with a chunk of cheese. They had initially planned to hunt in the forest, they hadn't expected the elves to forbid them from doing so. To top it off, Bilbo had to deal with two troublesome ravens who kept seeking refuge from the rain under his cloak, only to peck greedily at his pockets where bits of cram were stashed for the hobbit to nibble on when he was hungry.

Bilbo was probably the first of his kind too weary to properly defend his food, so he let them.

Sighting the Forest Gate, along with the apparition of the Sun, was a pleasant occurrence. As much as Bilbo enjoyed seeing Greenwood so healthy and – relatively – free of any danger, he had no problem admitting that he missed hills and the possibility to see beyond ten feet ahead of himself.

"Mahal's Hammer," Bofur sighed as he took off his floppy hat to shake off excessive water. "I thought that downpour would never stop and that we were gonna drown!"

"I kind of liked it," Bombur piped in. "Now we are finally rid of that awful stench you carry 'round, brother!"

"Like yer one to talk! You break a bathtub each time ye bathe, that's why you only do it once a month, ye flabby oliphant!"

Troäc and Caräk took off from Thorin's shoulders with cries of "Oliphant! Oliphant!" that sent the whole company – except Thorin himself, though he looked less grumpy, and of course Bombur – laughing. Bilbo's spirits soared up with the raven brothers, higher and higher despite his weariness, until he thought he might actually get drunk from the mere warmth of the Sun upon his skin and barks of laughter.

Hatholnin's voice brought Bilbo back down on Arda.

"This is where we must part," the elf said calmly once the ponies had crossed the threshold of the Gate. "Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield, may Manwë guide you and your kin safely through the most unkind lands."

"You're leaving?" Bilbo blurted out before he thought. He needed to work on that.

"Yes, Master Hobbit," Manwen said with a gentle smile. "We were to return to the Elvenking's Halls as soon as we saw you to the Forest Gate. It is done now, and we must depart."

"Oh. Alright then. Be safe, I… guess."

Bilbo turned around in his saddle to chance a glance at Thorin. The dwarf was, unsurprisingly, glaring down at the ground between Fili's pony's hooves as though he was trying to turn the pebbles there to ash. He almost seemed to be struggling for something to say, but the game of light and shadow cast by the Sun could have been misleading Bilbo's eyes.

It wasn't until the elves turned around after one last nod that Thorin spoke up.

"If you are willing, we would be in need of guides on our way back," he grumbled, as if somebody was holding a knife under his throat and forcing him to spell the words. "You have proven yourself to be helpful, and I would be most glad if you could lead my people through Greenwood anew."

For a few seconds, both Hatholnin and Manwen looked stunned. Of all the emotions – or lack thereof – that Bilbo had seen elves display in the short span of time he had socialized with them, astonishment was a novelty. Wariness soon replaced surprise on Hatholnin's fair face, something that better suited the elven warrior, but a small, almost polite smile made its way on Manwen's lips as she looked at the dwarven King.

"We will inform the Elvenking of your request. Wait for us here at the Forest Gate upon your return, and rest assured that your passage through Greenwood will be a safe one."

"You have my gratitude."

With one last, uncertain look as to where they stood, both elves and Thorin walked away in opposite direction. Hatholnin and Manwen disappeared back into the thick vegetation that constituted the border of Greenwood; Thorin nudged his still drenched Jango along the path, his shoulders squared and head held high.

Bilbo forewent his aching legs and sore backside and spurred Snowball forward until he was riding directly alongside his beloved suitor. Who had yet to turn his fat head and acknowledge him.

"So," the hobbit began tentatively, a smirk stretching his lips even before he finished his sentence, "your gratitude, eh?"

Thorin's mouth stayed stubbornly shut. Typical.

"You know, it's actually quite nice, to see you interact with elves in a way that doesn't involve death glares or insults. I may be a hopeless fool, but dare I say I detected a hint of friendliness in your parting words?"

An annoyed grunt. Well, it was an improvement, and Bilbo wasn't about to ignore a victory, small as it was.

"I'm confident that one day, you'll even be able to smile at an elf. Maybe not this year, and maybe not to just any elf, but I'm sure you'll come to it. Underneath all those iron layers, I know you have a soft heart."

"Don't be ridiculous, Master Baggins," Thorin growled, combing his wet hair back with his left hand. "There is nothing soft about me."

"So you like to think. But the way you've held me those last few nights tells me otherwise."

Thorin fell silent, and Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek to rein in a satisfied grin. He may have just imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw a blush creeping up the dwarf's thick neck. Unless it was just the Sun playing games on the warrior's skin.

And what a fine sight Thorin was, all glistening under the early summer celestial body. His still damp hair was thrown back and rested heavily on his shoulder blades, slapping against the dwarf's back with every step his steed took. The fabric and fur of his tunic was thoroughly drenched, clinging to his skin, and a slight shudder ran down Bilbo's spine at the memory of broad shoulders and a strong chest pressed against his back.

It had been both his best and worst night since the beginning of their journey, more than one week prior. His first opportunity to share something more than chaste kisses and hugs, and a blasted spider had to come and ruin it all. If Bilbo had been a more pessimistic hobbit, he would have said it was to be expected.

_There'll be time_, he thought to himself, patting Snowball's white mane when the pony shook it. _When we rest in Bag End or when we get back to Erebor. We have all the time in the world. Certainly, I can be more patient than this pig-headed dwarf. _

"Fili, you are taking the lead," Thorin called, tugging on his reins until his mount stopped. "Don't stray off path. If we ride hard, we should reach Beorn's Hall sometime in the afternoon."

Ride hard. Oh joy.

They did just that. After days on end of walking on Greenwood's slippery soil, the ponies were only too happy to run up and down grass-covered hills, with the Sun drying their pelt and the winds whipping their manes this way and that – and more often than not right into one unsuspecting dwarven face. The loads on their backs bounced with every stride and Bilbo had to struggle to keep up with the rest of the group and stay rooted in his saddle at the same time. Once or twice, he felt his backside stray dangerously close to the side, forcing him to clutch handfuls of mane and grit his teeth as he fought to keep his balance.

Minutes felt like days, and hours felt like… well, eternity. From the laughter that the wind escorted to Bilbo's ears, he was possibly the only one having trouble with this extended bout of gallop in the plains. Everyone else seemed to have fun.

Fili and Kili were pushing their ponies faster and faster with carefree peals of laughter. It looked like they were racing. Every now and then, they turned their mounts around or slowed down until the rest of the company caught up to them. Then they would be off again, with Gloin yelling at them that they were going to kill the poor beasts before they even saw the shadow of the first honeycomb. Their playfulness reminded Bilbo of how young the princes were by dwarven standards, and seeing them so untroubled was a nice change from their months on the quest.

Thorin seemed to appreciate it as well, for Bilbo saw the dwarf's lips twitch up into a fond smile every time his nephews careened back to the group with their hair in disarray and their breathing coming out in sharp pants. He never once scolded them, even when they ran too close to Dwalin's mare, causing the animal to rear and the burly warrior to curse. He did chastise them a bit when they stole Bofur's hat and threw it back and forth between the two of them as the toy maker pursued them with outraged shouts.

Somebody other than Bilbo was having a hard time, and that was Bombur's pony. Bearing the dwarf's massive weight was one thing, but the added strain of a gallop was maybe a bit too much for the gelding, if the foam marring his neck and dribbling from his mouth was any indication. The rotund cook slowed his steed down for a trot every now and then, and Bilbo used the excuse to settle into a more comfortable pace and wait for Bombur to catch up. His saddle sores were grateful for it.

But they escaped his forethoughts when the hobbit spotted the first giant bumblebee.

No more than a half mile away, Beorn's Hall stood as tall and green as it had been in Bilbo's memories. The oak trees that surrounded the inner garden – which should be in full bloom, to his great delight – were already wearing their heavy summer coat and partially shielding the large house from sight. On either side of the high wooden gate, the impressive thorny hedge was dotted with red spots that ought to be flowers. Roses, mayhap.

The beehives were probably overflowing with honey. The thought of Beorn's great table laden with jars of the sugar treat and fresh bread made Bilbo's mouth water and he unconsciously urged Snowball faster down the road where everyone else was waiting.

He briefly wondered why the dwarves had stopped so close to their goal, when he spotted the last obstacle that stood between the company and much-needed rest.

Although they had first arrived to Beorn's Hall in a rush the previous year, Bilbo distinctly remembered the peaceful, shallow stream lazily making its way around the estate. They had had to cross it, and the cool water had been like a soothing balm on his abused soles at the time. He had seen Beorn's ponies drinking from it more than once, had washed his old waistcoat on the flat pebbles before they had had to depart again.

It had been calm and welcoming. Nothing like the violent river that now denied them access to Beorn's wonderful garden.

Sitting up straight in his saddle, Bilbo could see that the torrent was at least fifty feet wide, and no longer a small arm of the great Anduin. Judging by the speed at which bits of wood were travelling on the surface, the current was strong and the hobbit had to wonder just how a few days of hard rain could amount to this.

As they walked closer, the sounds of running water became almost unbearably loud, as if they were surrounded by thousands of tiny waterfalls. Worry gnawed at Bilbo's heart; would they even be able to cross it? Even if the water didn't come up high on the ponies, it was quite obvious from the way they shifted and stamped the dirt that the animals were nervous. They were exhausted after such a long period of time without rest, and looked ready to bolt at moment's notice.

Thorin broke away from the group and nudged Jango closer to the wild river. To better assess the depths of the water, Bilbo wagered, but for once his attention was solely focused on the black pony between the King's legs. And said pony didn't look comfortable with standing so close to rushing, probably freezing water. Not at all.

"Seems shallow enough to cross it," Thorin said, shouting to be heard over the ambient noise and missing the flicker of Jango's ears as they fell back flat against his skull. "The current is strong, so I advise you- Woah!"

It was bound to happen. With the cumulated fatigue of two entire days of travel and the proximity of such a loud, potential danger, Jango's patience finally snapped. With a frightened neigh, the pony reared up and sent Thorin flying through the air. The dwarf landed on his shoulder on the moss-covered ground, but thankfully his hand never released the vice-like grip it had on the reins and Jango didn't bolt away or trample him.

"Good gracious! Thorin, are you alright?" Bilbo called once he had recovered from the shock.

"I'm fine," the dwarf grunted back as he struggled to push himself up with one hand, all the while holding Jango back with the other. He stood as tall as he could and never mind the mud cackling his left side.

Thorin raised a hand and Bilbo, for one shameful second, was afraid that his suitor was going to hit the pony as punishment for his little stunt. But Thorin's fingers came down to rest on Jango's soft nose to stroke it soothingly. The dwarf's mouth moved to form what Bilbo thought to be reassurances to his steed, although he was not close enough to hear properly.

"Everyone, dismount," Thorin said once Jango stopped stamping the ground. "The ponies cannot bear our weight and fight the current at the same time. Wrap a piece of fabric around their eyes and lead them through the waters."

"Are you sure it's not too deep, Uncle?" Fili worried as he slid down from his saddle.

"Quite certain."

Bilbo followed Fili's lead and dismounted quietly. As he dug into his pack to retrieve a handkerchief that he would use as a blindfold on Snowball, he couldn't help but worry at his lower lip. Oh, sure, Dwarves had iron feet and would probably withstand even a current twice as hard as the one they were going to brave. But even on his better days, and even less so with his stomach muscles hurting from his encounter with the spider, Bilbo wasn't sure he would be able to walk through such a violent stream.

Now. How to break the news to Thorin without sounding like a helpless fauntling?

As it turned out, it was the dwarven King himself who neared Bilbo once the handkerchief was firmly tied around Snowball's head. "Bilbo," he said. "Give your pony to Dwalin. I will carry you."

"Y-you'll what?" the hobbit sputtered. "No. No no no. I don't want to be a burden."

"You weigh less than a battle axe. You are hardly a burden. Now please hand your reins over to Dwalin, I would like to get this over with as soon as possible."

"I can take care of myself!" Bilbo said indignantly, though he deplored that it came out as a squeak. "I can ride on Snowball's back, as you said I weigh a lot less than you dwarves. I won't bother him."

"What if your pony gets scared and throws you off in the middle of the river? I won't take the risk of you drowning when I can avoid it. Now, be quick."

Before Bilbo could protest further – in all honesty, he didn't know why he kept doing it, since he would be ill-suited to cross the river on his own anyway – he felt his reins being tugged out of his grasp as Dwalin snatched Snowball away.

"Kili, please help Master Baggins, so that we can reach Beorn's house sometime today."

Strong hands grabbed Bilbo under his arms and hefted him on Thorin's shoulders before the hobbit could so much as screech. The only thing he could do was hold on to Thorin's head with both legs and try to keep his balance by clutching handfuls of dark hair.

"Not so hard, Bilbo," Thorin hissed, squeezing his intended's knee where it had taken up residence against his cheek. "You won't fall. I swear."

"How can you seriously promise that?" Bilbo snapped, releasing the raven strands only to wrap his arms around the dwarf's head. "Yavanna, you're even more unstable than a drunk pony! I don't even think I've ever mounted a pony as tall as you, this is downright scary! How Men manage to stand it on a daily basis, I wonder."

"Beloved, you are rambling." Thorin made sure the black rag he had tied over Jango's eyes wouldn't fall and grabbed the reins. "Just trust me."

"I would trust you with my life, Thorin. Just not my balance."

With a chuckle, the dwarven King wrapped his free arm around Bilbo's legs to steady him and made his way over to where dirt ended and water began.

Loathe as he was to be once more a burden on the company, Bilbo admitted that, though unexpected, this way to cross the river suited him. While he was a decent swimmer by Shire standards – his floating and dog-paddling skills were unequalled in Hobbiton – he didn't trust himself with the rapids. He felt safer up there, on Thorin's shoulders; but the dwarf didn't need to know that.

His ego was big enough as it was.

The first few steps were easy enough. Bilbo leaned a bit sideways to grab a handful of Jango's mane and keep his balance. His other hand rested on Thorin's head and itched to bury itself in the dwarf's long hair, but he refrained from it.

Soon, however, the water came up high enough to tease the pony's belly and the animal neighed nervously. Bilbo grabbed one of Thorin's courting braids and fidgeted with it as he felt Jango's muscles twitch sporadically. This was not a good idea. Panic lingered on the border of the hobbit's thoughts but he managed to keep it at bay.

When they reached the middle of the river and water sprang up to lick Bilbo's lightly furred toes, he was unable to keep the words in. "Thorin," he began nervously, "are you sure about this?"

The dwarf's head twisted a bit until he could catch Bilbo's gaze from the corner of his eyesight. "About what, exactly?"

"_This_. Walking through that river with water up to your waist, a hobbit on your shoulders and- for Eru's sake!" Bilbo quipped when Jango sidestepped and almost slipped. His balance temporarily lost, he grabbed fistfuls of the pony's mane with both hands. His thighs were trembling on either side of Thorin's face, he knew, and he felt ready to be sick. He was surrounded by rushing water, on a precarious perch, and nobody would be able to come to his aid were he to fall and be carried away down the river.

He had every right to feel sick!

"I'm dead," he mumbled when the pony he was leaning on bucked a bit with a nervous whinny. "I travelled over the whole of Middle-Earth and faced a dragon, and now I'm going to die crushed to bits under tons of freezing water until there's not even enough left to feed the fish."

"At least you'll die with your legs around my neck. I thought you would be happy about that."

"Don't joke! Not _now_!" If Bilbo trusted himself not to fall right off, he would have untangled a hand from Jango's mane to hit the dwarven oaf on the head. He knew he was whimpering, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Oh, why couldn't he just sprout wings and fly over the blasted river? He suddenly envied Troäc and Caräk who were doubtlessly already on the other side and waiting for them, looking down their beaks at the hairy bipeds pulling just as hairy quadrupeds after them across the water. The ravens were probably having a good laugh at their expense.

Especially at the dark-haired dwarf leading the group's, who had been gifted with a fidgety hobbit and a particularly jumpy pony. Unlucky fellow, that one.

Bilbo put his feet flat against Thorin's chest and willed them not to shake. He wished he could do like Jango and press himself up against the dwarf's sturdy body, his head tucked under one steady arm as soft words, an exotic mix of Khuzdul and Westron, were being whispered into his ear. Thorin's hands would ground him, and his warmth would thwart the shivers that cold water sent down his back.

Great. Now he was jealous of a pony as well as ravens.

A broad hand encased one of his fuzzy ankles to give it a gentle squeeze. "How are you up there?" Thorin asked.

"One of the best days of my life," Bilbo snapped, maybe a bit too sharply. But his nerves had taken over and his mind no longer had serious control over his mouth.

Thankfully, Thorin did not take offense.

"We are almost on the other side, hold on a little longer, my heart."

The endearment rolled off the dwarf's tongue easily and did wonders to soothe Bilbo. He allowed his grip on Jango's mane to slacken and even felt bold enough to temporarily unlatch a hand from the pony's fur to squeeze it between his thigh and Thorin's face and lay it flat on the dwarf's cheek.

"When this is over, I don't care what you say about propriety or all those silly things Dwarves hold as customs, I want a hug and don't you dare let go before tomorrow morning!"

Thorin's shoulders shook slightly as he chuckled and he gave Bilbo's shin a reassuring pat.

Burly dwarven legs plowed through the rushing river as though it was thin air. The steel-capped boots were certainly filled to the brim with freezing water, broad toes swimming in the encased space. Was Thorin cold? Bilbo knew Dwarves were a hardy folk, but this was the third day in a row that his suitor found himself drenched down to his underclothes. Could he catch a chill?

The prospect sent a spike of alarm through the Baggins side of Bilbo and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to smother Thorin in blankets in front of a hearty fire and feed him soup until the dwarf's stomach was full of the warm stuff. And probably sneak in a snuggle or two with the excuse of sharing body heat, Bilbo's Tookish side smirked.

To both the hobbit's relief and his disappointment, Dwarves rarely fell sick. If ever.

Soon water trailed down to Thorin's thighs and well past his knees. When his dark boots breached the surface, Bilbo didn't waste any time jumping down from his perch and running the last few feet in ankle-deep water to reach the nice, inviting dirt of the riverbank where he collapsed.

"Thank Yavanna for everything that is green!" he breathed, his nose buried in blades of grass. If others thought him ridiculous or mud was getting in his hair, he didn't mind. Eru, did he hate water when it wasn't shallow or calm. Or both at the same time.

Large hooves stopped in front of his eyes along with a pair of sodden boots, and kept him from the sight of the magnificent sun-kissed hills that surrounded Beorn's Hall. "Who could have guessed? Bilbo Dragonriddler Baggins, afraid of a little water."

"You make it sound as if I am scared of a puddle." Bilbo lazily rolled until he was lying on his back and gratified the dwarven King with a stern frown. "And I've told you before, don't call me that."

"You would rather I call you Master Hobbit?" Droplets hit the ground near Bilbo as Thorin wrung water out of his tunic. "I thought I had earned the right to call you by your birth name, but if it displeases you…"

"You know what I am talking about, Your Majesty."

The formal title, though foreign on Bilbo's lips, had the expected effect of making Thorin's face scrunch up in disapproval. The dwarf snorted and shrugged, busying his hands with untying Jango's blindfold. "Very well. But it was not I who gave you that name. The whole of Erebor is quite impressed by the way you handled Smaug, many ballads are sung in its halls about the Dragonriddler. It is a mark of respect."

"Well, let's hope it is just a passing fancy, I don't like to be reminded of that particular feat every time I get introduced to somebody," Bilbo mumbled as he raised his weight on his elbows to watch the rest of the dwarves. They were still crossing the river, some – namely Bombur – with less success than others.

Thorin's deep chuckle sounded somewhere above his head. "I think not. Once, I broke my shield on a battlefield, it caused an uproar and people are still talking about it. You faced a dragon alone and lived to tell the tale." A heavy hand came down to rest on Bilbo's honeyed curls. "People will speak of your deeds for ages."

The pride and warmth in Thorin's words made Bilbo's stomach clench and his cheeks feel hotter than they should. He squirmed; did the dwarf have any idea what his rare praises did to him? Probably not. "I'm not comfortable with it," he said finally to break the silence, hoping that from his position Thorin couldn't see his flushed face. "I don't need titles or songs or silly tales about how I only managed to anger a giant lizard into burning a whole city. I'm just a simple hobbit, a stranger to those of your kin still in the Blue Moutains even."

"You have stopped being a 'simple hobbit' the day you ran after us, waving your contract around. You are not the same Bilbo who fainted in his own home at the mention of a dragon." There was a soft thud as Thorin dropped to one knee beside his intended and brushed his lips against the smaller male's temple. "Nor are you a stranger to me or my kin, âzyungel. My One."

Bilbo's skin tingled pleasantly where the whiskered lips had nuzzled. He looked up into fond blue eyes and offered Thorin the warmest smile he had in store.

Gandalf had been right. He would return to Hobbiton, not as a soft-hearted, perfectly respectable hobbit, but changed beyond what he had ever imagined. He had seen more of the world than all the hobbits in the Shire put together, had felt the cruellest dread and the most radiant joy on his journey, sometimes in the course of one single day. He had more friends than he had had neighbors in Bag End, and had embraced love, even though it first came under the guise of a stern-looking dwarf calling him a grocer and abusing his patience.

Oh, Lobelia was going to have a fit about that. Bilbo giggled at the mere thought of his mouse-faced cousin's squeak if Thorin were to answer the door in his stead.

"Have I said something strange enough to warrant laughter?"

"No." Bilbo leaned up to catch the dwarf's lips for a quick kiss and erase the frown from his beloved's face before it worsened. "I was just thinking. There are some relatives that I would like you to meet in Hobbiton."

"And what are you two whispering about?"

Thorin and Bilbo turned their heads at the same time toward the third, mildly annoyed voice.

There was not an inch of Fili that wasn't thoroughly drenched. From his golden braids to the tip of his brown boots, water was dripping from the young dwarf in endless rivulets as though he was sweating them out of his very body. Unruly bangs of blond hair were plastered down his face, entering the corners of his mouth and meddling with his once neatly braided mustache.

All in all, Fili looked like a drowsy, scarred beaver that just had its dam collapsing on its head in mid-winter.

"We were talking about epithets and how we sometimes don't get to choose them," Bilbo filled in, stifling a laugh. He distracted his mind by standing up and brushing dirt from his clothes.

Fili's annoyed expression softened into something resembling a sympathetic gaze. "Oh. Yes. I've heard about that. I guess nobody would like to be called… well, you know."

"Thank you… I suppose?" Bilbo gave the young prince a puzzled look. He held no particular fondness for his position as Dragonriddler, but even he couldn't deny that the title had a nice ring. He highly doubted a majority of dwarves would rebuke the epithet if it was freely offered to them. "Though I suspect there are worse names to be called."

Fil's eyebrows shot up high on his forehead. "Are you out of your mind? It is an insult, nothing less! Even one with no knowledge of dwarven culture could see it."

Bilbo and Thorin shared a look, and the hobbit was relieved to see that the dwarf seemed as confused as he felt. "What are you… Fili, I don't think we are even talking about the same thing."

"Is this not about you going by the name of Bed-Warmer Baggins in Erebor?" Fili asked just as his brother came to a stop next to his pony.

Oh. Right. Bilbo had forgotten all about that second, highly unsavory nickname.

He opened his mouth to reply but Kili beat him to it.

"Oh, I _hate _that name!" Thorin's youngest nephew growled. With his dark hair in disarray and his tunic clinging to his body, he looked like a wild cat after a downpour. "One evening, I heard someone call you that after you passed down the Main Hall to your chambers. Punched two of his teeth right out of his filthy mouth and broke his nose."

"Kili! You know better than to pick up fights! And you," Bilbo added when he saw Fili's smirk and nod of approval, "should know better than to condone such a behavior. Thorin, tell them."

"Bilbo is right. This is not how matters such as these should be handled."

"There."

"Next time, bring me the scum so I can cut out his tongue," Thorin growled.

"Wha- Thorin, no!"

"Is somebody talkin' about cutting tongues out?" Dwalin grunted as he reached them. The tattooed dwarf's clothing was only soaked up to his belt, being the tallest of them all. "Is it too late to participate?"

"Nobody is cutting anyone's tongue," Bilbo groaned, bringing his right hand up to rub his temple. He could feel the first signs of a massive headache coming on.

"A shame, that, it's quite fun. Last time was s'long ago, too."

"Well, sorry to disappoint but… Wait, wait, you mean you have actually _already _cut somebody's tongue out?" Bilbo sputtered, a bit spooked and green around the mouth.

The dwarven warrior merely shrugged as if they were discussing perfectly respectable habits. "Aye. Some lads are just better off without 'em, anyway. Last one I snatched had been oglin' Lady Dís all afternoon and tellin' his pals all kinds of foul things he wanted to do to her. Sliced that Man filth's lapper nice and quick 'ven before Thorin asked me to."

Bilbo turned to gape at his suitor, who didn't even have the decency to look sheepish and met his gaze head-on. "This… this is barbaric! You cannot just mutilate people to sort out problems!" he thundered, miffed at the knowledge that the dwarves he adored resorted to such ugly methods of torture and a wee bit angered that even Thorin had at one point been involved in those. "This is not how you go around earning respect!"

"Are you saying that people should be allowed to say the foulest things and get away with it?" the King said evenly, although the glint of annoyance in his eyes was not lost on Bilbo. "That they should be left alone while they spread disgusting rumors and inspire mistrust in the hearts of others?"

"I am not saying that, stop putting words in my mouth," the shireling snapped. He was getting really tired of Thorin's assumptions. "I understand you dwarves have customs and traditions, but that is extreme."

"There are worse punishments that can be dealt," the dwarf replied simply.

"Seriously, Thorin? Is that really how you wish to rule Erebor? By cutting off the tongues of those who speak ill of you or your kin?"

"Whose tongue are we cutting?" Gloin asked cheerfully as he neared the small group with Bofur and Bombur close behind him. "I'll sharpen my knife!"

Too much. This was too much.

The small unpleasant pangs that had been buzzing around Bilbo's temple bloomed into full-fledged pounding and the hobbit snarled. "Nobody's having their tongue cut! Not today, not here, not ever!" Bilbo shouted, so loud that birds actually stopped chirping for a few moments and every single pair of dwarven eyes narrowed in on him.

Without so much as a 'by your leave', Bilbo snagged Snowball's reins from Dwalin's hand. The anger from his recent outburst granted him the strength to hoist himself up in his saddle on his forst try – and a relief that was, for he wasn't sure his credibility would survive his falling flat on his backside or bouncing repeatedly like a fool in an attempt to climb on his mount's back.

Funny, really, how exchanging a few soft words with Thorin had escalated into such a fierce quarrel. But the fire burning low in Bilbo's belly wouldn't be tamed.

"I've had it with you Dwarves doing unspeakable things and acting as though they are completely normal and civilized! I swear, sometimes you can be worse than-than… than Orcs!"

Unwilling to hang around and see just what kind of reaction his last comment stirred amongst the company, Bilbo pressed both heels into Snowball's flanks and sent the pony into a gallop in direction of Beorn's enormous house. Each fall of the beast's hooves against the ground sent another spike of pain through Bilbo's skull, but he found he didn't care. His only priority was to get as far away from the dwarves as he could. He had seen enough of them for the day and he wouldn't terribly mind to have a few hours to himself, away from that reckless, tongue-cutting bunch.

His eyes following Bilbo's figure as it bounced slightly atop his pony, Fili laid a hand on Thorin's shoulder. "I dare say there won't be any Bed-Warming in store for you tonight, Uncle."

The dark glare he was graced with could have sent even Azog the Defiler scuttling back to his mother's skirts.


	9. A Night at Beorn's

**CHAPTER 8**

**A Night at Beorn's**

For what he hoped would be the last time, Bilbo decided that he didn't give a goblin's arse where Thorin was and closed his eyes for what ought to be his fourth attempt at sleep.

His Grumpiness had been a royal pain in the arse all evening, after all, he didn't deserve to have someone worrying after him. Especially when Beorn had been such a fine, polite host to the small company.

The skin-changer had welcomed them at his gate with open furry arms, as though he had been expecting them. Save for a few additional scars, he looked the same as he did when Bilbo last saw of him. In spite of his tremendous height and a bulk fit to put even a cave troll to shame, the bear of a man had plucked Bilbo from his pony as gently as he would a fragile flower. The hobbit had accepted the following hug with a laugh, burying his head into Beorn's chest pelt as the skin-changer deplored that he could feel his bunny's bones through his clothing. Fingers as large as the shireling's hand had poked Bilbo's stomach, tickling his tummy and drawing giggles from him.

In retrospect, Bilbo admitted that he had lingered in Beorn's embrace maybe a tad longer than he should have. But he had been weary and tired and altogether happy for the opportunity to get some rest, and after all, he was just sharing a hug with a friend. Nothing worth the scorching glare he had received from Thorin when the dwarf had ridden through the wooden gate.

As the day progressed and the ponies were left free to feast on Beorn's pastures, the dark look had morphed into something close to Thorin's brooding face from when they had been on the quest. He hadn't followed as Bilbo, Fili and Kili accompanied Beorn to the garden to gather honeycombs from the beehives. Probably off to sulk or care for Orcrist, or both at the same time. Bilbo hadn't cared; let the mighty dwarven King act like a petulant child, he wasn't about to go and apologize for finding tongue-cutting barbaric and distasteful.

Thorin wasn't sighted until much later in the evening, when they all gathered around Beorn's oversized table for dinner.

As expected, no meat was found on anyone's plate that night, but the impressive variety of food presented to them had more than made up for it. Eggs, nuts, berries, fruit were dispatched in bowls and placed all around the table in-between golden loaves of bread and large jars of honey. Towering over them all in the middle of the table, a wooden pitcher – at least the size and width of Bilbo's body – reigned supreme over the dishes and distributed glorious mead whenever Beorn's hand tilted it.

And tilt it the bear did, until the dwarves' cheeks were rosy and every sentence prompted a laugh from Bofur. Bilbo had indulged in the amber liquid himself, but had been more interested in the juicy pears and honeyed bread than anything else. He had only stopped wolfing it down – etiquette be damned – every once in a while, for a breath or to bat Beorn's oversized hands away whenever the bear tried to pat the hobbit's belly.

Thorin had seated himself on the other side of the table, between Dwalin and Gloin. He hadn't eaten a lot, not as much as everyone else at any rate, and had kept his nose in his tankard most of the evening so he wouldn't take part in any conversation. Bilbo had been under the impression that the King was avoiding crossing eyes with him, with the exception of an annoyed glance whenever Beorn touched him.

A plague on the stubbornness of Dwarves.

The dark-haired dwarf had been the only one unable to change into dry clothing, since he had only brought the set he had on his back. It had been dry for dinner, though, which made Bilbo think that Thorin had spent the remainder of the afternoon lying down on the grass under the sun. Alone.

That had been Bilbo's last thought for Thorin before he decided to enjoy the evening and the hearty meal Beorn's servants had graciously put together for the small company. And he had chosen the perfect seat to do so, wedged between Fili and Kili on a bench so high it left his feet dangling over the floor.

The brothers had spent the entire evening stuffing food in their mouths and downing enough mead that Bilbo feared Beorn's roof would not withstand the tremendous snoring that would take place in the night. In-between bouts of laughter, they would nudge Bilbo or wrap a friendly arm around his smaller shoulders, calling him 'Dragonriddler' just to make him huff. Both princes had received copious swats over the course of the evening, albeit half-hearted ones, as the hobbit wasn't really angry at them.

Who could, really, when a single glance at the scars marring the young dwarves' faces was enough to realize how close they had once come to join Mahal in his Halls of Waiting?

Bilbo's small outburst on the riverbank had seemingly been put aside, as nobody brought it up or even looked cross with him – that is, except Thorin, of course. Whether they had all blamed it on his exhaustion or it had fled their minds, Bilbo didn't know, but he had been glad. He was aware that there was a gap between dwarven and hobbit cultures. No, not a gap, more of a Smaug-sized pit with fire and spikes awaiting those who tried to cross it.

Building a bridge over that pit would take centuries and skills that Bilbo didn't possess. Nor did he wish to, either; he was not so foolish as to pretend that he could bring together two worlds that were as far apart from one another as can be. Dragonriddler, they may call him, but he was just a hobbit. Doomed to accept that certain dwarven proclivities could not be swayed, and that was it.

Even though he might get sick just thinking about some of those.

They had delighted Beorn with tales of their short journey well into the night, until there was nothing left to say. The skin-changer's booming laugh had shaken the walls when Bofur had quipped that he had no dry smallclothes left from their days riding under the rain; and the bear-like growl that had rumbled up his throat at the mention of the spider's lair had sent prickles down Bilbo's spine. A good thing, that they could count Beorn amongst their friends.

Then there had been songs, lots of them, while Fili and Kili danced around the near-empty table. The princes had sauntered over tankards and polished off jars, passing in turns their uncle's disapproving gaze and Beorn's toothy grin. Bilbo had found himself clapping along with the other dwarves, his stomach sated and a pleasant buzz overruling his mind, occasionally blurting out lyrics whenever a familiar tune came up.

A merry gathering, indeed.

When there were no more songs left in the list and the company's exhaustion made itself known again, Beorn had ushered them all to the living room – the stables, actually – where blankets had been thrown about on straw to form a dozen nests, complete with pillows and wool covers. Everyone had gratefully sunk into the makeshift beds with delighted sighs, revelling in the softness of blankets against their worn muscles.

Bilbo had not been any different, and claimed a nest as his own after he had properly thanked Beorn. With one ear, he had heard the skin-changer offering his room to Thorin in regard to his kingly status, but the dwarf had declined as politely as could be expected – meaning not a lot – before stepping out of the stables.

That had been a little over two hours ago, before Dwalin and the brothers began a snoring contest. And Thorin had yet to show himself.

Bilbo sighed and rolled over on his back to stare at the wooden beams supporting the roof. There was no way around it; he would not rest at ease until the insufferable dwarf was by his side or, at the very least, within sighting range.

For the love of everything that was green, it was unfair! Why was he plagued with such worries while he had clearly done nothing wrong? Alright, so, maybe he had overreacted and called the whole dwarven race a barbaric lot. And maybe he had compared Thorin and his kin to Orcs. But they had been words, harmless, hasty words! Hardly worth the fit Thorin was throwing.

Somewhere to Bilbo's right, Kili's snores gave way to an exasperated groan when Fili kicked his younger brother in his sleep. With a half-muffled curse, Kili rolled away from the slumbering firstborn and resumed sleeping without delay. Further in the back, Gloin and Bofur were snoozing the night away from the depths of their warm cocoons, seemingly unbothered by the proximity of Dwalin's bear-like snoring. Bombur, however, could not be found in the weakly-lit sleeping area and had probably fallen asleep somewhere Bilbo's eyes couldn't see.

Everybody was catching up on sleep, and if he didn't do the same, the next day would find him nodding off in his saddle. And that was a five feet drop he would much rather avoid, thank you.

Bilbo rolled onto his side in the semi-darkness and closed his eyes firmly, vowing to open them only when the lights of dawn would sting them. He tugged his blanket up to his chin and burrowed further into the straw mattress, willing his mind to yield and succumb to the land of dreams.

He had almost succeeded, too, when something landed hard on the straw behind him and shattered his efforts. Bilbo turned his head to glance over his shoulder when the lump exhaled loudly and moved to bury itself between the hobbit's shoulder blades.

Not something, then, rather someone. Someone with a mop of long dark hair and a distinctive, familiar musk. Turned out Thorin had gotten tired of brooding all alone, in the end.

"And to what do I owe the honor?" Bilbo asked quietly. There was no bite in his words, no snarky undertone, as he wasn't inclined to push Thorin away now that the dwarf had taken a step toward him. If anything, he felt a bit amused.

"I'm an idiot," came the drowsy reply, half-muffled from Thorin's mouth being pressed into Bilbo's back.

"We had already figured out that much, but please, do go on." Bilbo's heart had already forgiven his suitor, but that didn't mind he couldn't play around a tad.

A groan, and Thorin twisted his head up to rest his bearded chin on the side of Bilbo's neck. His breath smelt of mead and pipe-weed, and the hobbit wagered Thorin had been out in the garden smoking his pipe all this time.

"I should not have ignored you tonight." The words were husky and made hoarse from weariness, and Bilbo could not help the pleasurable tinge that warmed his belly when hot air bathed his ear. "It was uncalled for and I should not hold onto trifling things while you already have sacrificed so much in regard to our cause. You have accomplished deeds so great that I often forget you are of peaceful folk." Rough and a bit sloppy, whiskered lips were moving against Bilbo's nape on the soft patch of skin under his ear. If the hobbit had had any resentment remaining toward the dwarf, it was gone now. "It is time I abide with some of your beliefs in return."

"No tongue-cutting, then?"

"No tongue-cutting," Thorin promised softly, pressing an apologetic kiss at the back of Bilbo's neck amidst the tiny curls there and drawing a satisfied sigh from his burglar. Emboldened, and certainly relieved by the knowledge that there was no bad blood between them, Thorin snaked a hand under the blanket to lay it on Bilbo's hip. "Unless I deem it extremely necessary," he added after a small pause.

Bilbo shook his head with a small smile, scooting backward until he could feel the length of Thorin's solid body against his own, softer one. "No tongue-cutting, no matter the situation," the hobbit said, his voice almost turning into a purr when Thorin's hand kneaded his hipbone lazily.

"Never?"

"Never."

"What if people offend you or insult you?"

"I'll ignore them, simple as that."

"And if they try to harm you? May I at least break arms, then?"

"Nope."

"Fingers?"

"Nope. Good gracious, Thorin, you make it sound like you'll have the whole of your kin to fight on a daily basis!" Bilbo chuckled under his breath, careful not to let his voice reach a volume that might stir their companions from their well-deserved sleep.

"I won't, but it never hurts to stand prepared," the dwarf mumbled, nuzzling into Bilbo's soft hair. "You are my most prized treasure, Bilbo. Should worse come to worse, I would protect you from the entire world. And if to do so I have to cut thousands of tongues and shatter hundreds of bones, then so be it."

The passionate – though a bit drowsy – words awoke butterflies in the pit of Bilbo's stomach. By all means, he ought to feel revolted, but the declaration brought forth a feeling of safety like Bilbo had never known before. With Thorin keeping watch over him, no harm would ever come his way.

"Well, that's… romantic, I guess. In some weird, dwarven way." Bilbo took a second to hum appreciatively when Thorin pressed a lopsided kiss to his shoulder. "Then again, you are a weird, dwarven suitor so… nothing unexpected here."

Bilbo gasped when the hand on his hip suddenly crept up to tickle his unprotected side through his undershirt. "Unfair!" he gasped in-between giggles. "Unfair! Thorin, stop that, we'll wake the others!"

"Correction, âzyungel. _You _will wake the others."

Bilbo kept squirming and pleading with Thorin, only to have the dwarf nipping at the sensitive flesh of his neck while his merciless fingers pursued their assault. Even if his breath hadn't been heavy with mead, Bilbo would still have figured out that the King was a bit tipsy, otherwise he would never have lavished this kind of attention on his intended in a room where they could easily be seen.

By the time Thorin decided to stop tormenting his hobbit, his hand had slipped under Bilbo's undershirt to graze naked skin. There was something possessive about the way the fingers mapped the hairless belly, stopping here and there for a gentle squeeze or a soft caress.

When the digits travelled across Bilbo's stomach, they faltered. "Do you still hurt?" Thorin rasped out, blunt fingernails hovering over his intended's midsection.

Even with a few Beorn-sized tankards under the belt, the dwarf hadn't forgotten about the frightening bruise the spider's sting had left on Bilbo's body.

"Not much," the hobbit replied quietly. "I can breathe normally now, and there's almost no strain at all when I move around. Much more acceptable than death by spider venom, in any case."

"Indeed."

Slowly, tentatively, Thorin's fingers began to draw patterns on Bilbo's stomach where he knew the fist-sized bruise to be. It was as if the dwarf was trying to soothe away any remaining pain. The touch brought a smile to Bilbo's lips and he stretched his legs, wiggling his toes as he took in the warmth and comfort of his King.

Oh, this dwarf could be an insufferable, oafish lump of a brutal insensitiveness. He had a tendency to brood and snarl and didn't take well to people going against his beliefs. But he was steadfast and unwavering in his loyalty to his kin and, now, to Bilbo as well. Five feet and three inches of fierce devotion and enough passion to make a hobbit happy ten lifetimes over.

Plus the cuddling was amazing.

Thorin's hand had apparently grown tired of sticking close to Bilbo's stomach and was set on exploring new territories. First it skimmed over ribs and drew a few short gasps from the hobbit who feared tickling was back on Thorin's mind, only to sigh in relief when the fingers merely drew uncertain patterns on his chest.

Bilbo found himself slowly dozing off from the gentle ministrations. He would have fallen asleep, too, if Thorin's hand hadn't suddenly abandoned his chest to trail down the length of his upper body. It strayed low, past his bellybutton, to stroke the soft line of hair there.

The contact, though light, caused Bilbo's eyes to fly open and his mind to jerk fully awake. "Thorin?" he asked quietly.

"Hm?"

"What, er… what are you doing?"

"Nothing," came the reply, and if Bilbo didn't know better, he would have deemed it a tad sluggish.

"Oh. Good."

The fingers remained where they were, gently tangling themselves in peach-soft fuzz and Bilbo allowed his body to relax. It wasn't unpleasant by any standard, no, merely startling, so with the surprise wearing away the hobbit began to drift off anew.

Only to almost bite his tongue when Thorin's fingers teased – _teased! _– at the waistband of his pants.

"Thorin!" he hissed over his shoulder, almost smashing his nose with the dwarf's larger one. "Stop this."

"You are not enjoying this?"

"No! I mean, yes I do, but… it's not… we are…" Bilbo ground his teeth to retain control over his voice. "We are not alone, Thorin!"

A little snort. "What of it? Everybody is sleeping. I don't think they will wake up any time soon."

"I'm not taking any chance. Discipline your paws or keep them to yourself."

A tad harsh, maybe, but at least Thorin's hand stilled. "You were the one to request more physical interaction between the two of us. I thought it would please you."

Oh, it did. Very much. Too much, even, and Bilbo knew that if he let Thorin go any further down his body there was no guaranty that his control would remain within his grasp. Nor his voice, for that matter. As much as Bilbo liked where this was heading, he wasn't particularly thrilled by the possibility of the other dwarves being awoken by noises he might make. He prayed to Eru that none of them – especially Fili and Kili – had already been pulled from their sleep and were spying on the couple with their enhanced dwarven sight. A frightening perspective, but it would certainly explain why there was a lot less snoring going around than earlier.

Bilbo rolled over so he could face Thorin and searched for his suitor's eyes in the semi-darkness. "It pleases me, I assure you," he whispered, bringing one hand up to cup the dwarf's bearded cheek. Up this close, the heavy scent of mead was even more present. "I would gladly have you follow this line of thought until dawn comes to us."

"Then why-"

"As I've said, we are not alone," Bilbo interrupted gently, his thumb tracing a path from Thorin's nose to his cheekbone, "and you have had a few tankards too much, otherwise you wouldn't behave like this."

"I am not inebriated," the dwarf grunted.

_And I'm the Goblin King's long lost sister. _"Nevertheless, when I expressed my wishes for more 'physical interaction', as you so poetically put it, I had a more relaxing and intimate setting in mind. It didn't include being groped in the dark three feet from our companions after two days of sustained travel." And yes, you _are _inebriated, Bilbo almost added.

But his point had gotten across, for Thorin's hand slid off completely.

"You seemed to have no such qualms about being touched in front of the whole company all evening," the dwarf growled lowly.

Bilbo was left to blink quite stupidly. "I may have indulged in some mead as well, but I think I would remember you doing such a thing. As far as I know, you have been sulking all evening."

"Not me. The skin-changer."

Bilbo frowned for but a second before it all came clicking into place. The brooding, the fierce glaring at the gate or at dinner whenever Beorn had tried to pat Bilbo's belly. The warm presence of Thorin's hand on that very same belly, practically etching 'mine' on the hobbit's skin with every caress.

The matter of tongue-cutting hadn't been the only thing on the dwarf's mind.

"Sweet Yavanna, Thorin, could it be… that you are jealous?"

Only silence met his question, and that was enough. Against his better will, Bilbo's lips stretched into a grin and a few giggles escaped him. Thorin Oakenshield, mighty King of Erebor, jealous of a bear living in the woods with a bunch of animals. Oh that was rich.

"It gladdens my heart," the dwarf drawled, suddenly much more sober, "that you find my feelings so entertaining. And to know that they are cause for such laughter is a great joy. Now, I believe I have a few hours of rest to catch up on. A good night, Master Baggins."

Before Bilbo could do anything to stop it, Thorin clumsily climbed back to his feet and set out to claim another spot to spend the night. He had sounded hurt and dejected. While Bilbo was always one to scoff at Thorin's dramatics, even he had to admit that he shouldn't have mocked the King.

_Thought after taunting a live dragon, I would have learned to keep my mouth in check. _

"Thorin, come back," he called quietly. "You know I wasn't laughing at you."

Whether the dwarf heard him or not, it mattered little, for Thorin never turned around. Bilbo sighed and kicked his blanket away; he would be thrice damned before he let this escalate into another quarrel.

Many times did Thorin almost step on a slumbering dwarf, causing Bilbo's breath to catch in his throat, but never once did the hobbit cry out a warning. It would be easier to explain why Thorin was meandering about stepping on fingers than to say why Bilbo was shouting at uncivilized hours.

Eventually, the King deemed the nest of blankets right next to his nephews worthy of his attention and all but collapsed upon it. The sudden drop and resulting thud had Kili's sleeping form jerking awake and the young dwarf looked up.

"Sumthin wong?" he slurred, half his brain still too busy dreaming to form proper sentences.

"Your uncle is a bit out of sorts tonight," Bilbo replied quietly, stopping by Kili to pat the lad's unruly hair. "I'll deal with him. You go back to sleep."

"G'night."

Bilbo bit back a chuckle when the young prince's head hit his pillow and he began snoring once more. On Kili's left side, Fili was still asleep, undisturbed by the exchange.

The hobbit regretfully tore his attention from the brothers to focus on the task at hand; namely, their uncle.

Bilbo tiptoed to where Thorin was currently lying on his side facing away, trying without success to kick his heavy boots off. Moonlight streaming in through the cracks in the shutters highlighted bits of straw in the dwarf's dark mane; it would be a pain to remove after a whole night of shuffling.

"You are quite possibly the silliest dwarf to have ever strolled across Middle-Earth," Bilbo huffed as he crouched down by Thorin's legs to tug the steel-capped boots off. Cursed things, he didn't know why Dwarves bothered with them. "Beorn? And me? Did you even stop to think about it?"

Thorin shrugged. "You hugged him for a long time, at the gate," he said gruffly, as though even he thought this was a lame reply.

"So I did, but he is a friend. Should Gandalf walk past, I would certainly hug him just as hard. Yet I don't think you would hunt the poor old wizard down if I did."

Bilbo expected a comment along the lines that Gandalf was anything but a 'poor old wizard' but Thorin was set on pouring out the contents of his heavy heart.

"Then at dinner, his eyes never left you, I saw it. They were wild and invasive."

"I am the only hobbit Beorn has ever seen," Bilbo explained as the first boot slid away and he got started on the other one. "To him, I'm just another small animal to look after. I'm sure he meant nothing by it."

"And the way he touched you… I almost felt sick. Those careless fingers, prodding, digging into places that are not his to touch." By then, Thorin was practically rambling. It probably didn't matter whether or not Bilbo was still here to listen to the slightly drunk King. "Upsetting a bruised stomach that is mine to look after. Disrespecting a belly that is mine to revere. Only I should be allowed to lay hands on you like this, only I! He had no right!"

"Shh shh!" Bilbo hastily cast the second boot aside and scooted until he was leaning over Thorin's body, his lips finding the dwarf's cheek with practiced ease. The shireling tried to keep his wits about him; even laced with possessiveness, Thorin's words had the strangest effect on his mind and body. "Shh, beloved, you are right. What Beorn did was rude and not terribly pleasant."

"Then why did you not reject him, as you did me?"

Oh, sweet Eru. Why did Thorin had to sound so hurt?

"I would never reject you, sweetheart," Bilbo whispered, sliding fingers in Thorin's hair. The endearment felt weird and foreign on his tongue, but it seemed to ease some tension from the dwarf's shoulders. There was a good chance that Thorin wouldn't remember it in the morning, anyway. "Tonight is just not the good night. As for Beorn, well, it might have escaped your notice but he is the size of a small house."

"What of it?"

"Dearest, have you ever played with a kitten? No matter how much it claws and hisses at you, you'll just keep poking its belly because you love the way it wriggles and tries to run away. That is just what I am to Beorn, a helpless kitten unable to threaten him into leaving it alone."

Thorin stayed silent as he mulled over what Bilbo said – or at least, the hobbit hoped that he did. "I have seen you stand up to foes bigger than he is," he said finally, a bit of puzzlement marring his speech.

"Well, I guess I didn't particularly care to be polite with mountain trolls," Bilbo chuckled. "But Beorn had the good grace to invite us for dinner, not _as _dinner, so I didn't want to offend him. You have nothing to worry about, though. I would pick your big paws over his even if you dragged me through a thousand rivers."

Bilbo's aim was, as it often did when he fought with words, perfect. Thorin's shoulders shook with repressed chuckles, and it wasn't long before the dwarf rolled onto his back to look up at his intended. The fond gaze – albeit a bit glazed over – coupled with the straw-speckled beard achieved to melt Bilbo's heart.

The hobbit willingly sank into Thorin's arms when he opened them. Laying his cheek on the dwarf's sturdy chest, Bilbo made himself as comfortable as possible. He brought one foot to rest between Thorin's sock-covered ones and sighed when a somewhat clumsy kiss was pressed into his hair.

"I'm sorry. Again," the King mumbled.

"It's alright. I guess I would object to other people touching you as well," Bilbo soothed, nuzzling into his suitor's thick neck. "You are just less subtle about it than I would be."

"What would you do?" Thorin asked, one big hand coming up to rest between Bilbo's shoulder blades and rubbing soft circles there.

"If someone were to touch you in a way that I don't like? Well… I don't know. If something like this happens in the Shire, I will probably track the culprit down, sneak into their home and shave their feet or cut their hair while they sleep. If I'm really mad I might even throw in a pair of socks as well."

The sudden jerk of the body underneath his startled Bilbo.

"You would cut someone's hair, for an ill-placed touch? You are certainly crueller than I expected," Thorin said quietly. "I thought feet hair was sacred to Hobbits."

"Hair grows back. It would make for a few embarrassing days, hardly the permanent damage sustained by the loss of a _tongue_, for example." The statement was punctuated with a jab to Thorin's unprotected ribs, which drew a satisfying gasp from the larger male.

"Could you just leave this be and let me sleep?" came the drowsy question.

"Gladly." Bilbo wriggled back into his original sleeping position and closed his eyes, the sound of Thorin's strong heart pumping relentlessly in his ear luring him to sleep. "Rest well, beloved. And if Beorn tries to poke me in the morning, I promise to tell him that he might find himself a few fingers short, courtesy of my faithful dwarven suitor. Will that be alright?" No answer. "Thorin?"

The chin Bilbo was tucked under moved, but in lieu of a reply, only light snoring escaped the dwarf's mouth.

The hobbit chuckled. His last worry before he joined his King in the realms of sleep was that he would wake up with his hair covered in dwarf slobber.

* * *

When Fili and Kili arrived at the breakfast table that morning, they were met with the very peculiar sight of their uncle sitting with his head buried in his hands, seated so close to Bilbo that their sides were touching from hip to shoulder. The hobbit was happily munching on honey-spread toast, his large feet swinging back and forth under the bench with appreciation. Every now and then, Bilbo would glance at Thorin and offer him a piece of toast, only to have the dwarf groan and burrow his face further in his palms.

Their usually stoic uncle only emerged when Beorn passed by the table carrying enough wood to have a nice fire going in the oversized fireplace – and probably have enough left to build a small shed, as well.

What the skin-changer had done to warrant the warning glare Thorin sent his way, neither brother had the faintest idea.


	10. Guests in Rivendell

**CHAPTER 9**

**Guests in Rivendell**

Beorn gave them enough honeycakes to feed a small army – or the average hobbit family – for a week. So much in fact that the golden treats kept escaping their packs and pockets to roll about on the ground. It wasn't until they were well past the Carrock that they had eaten enough of the cakes for their bags to remain tame. In fact, they didn't even run out of the baked goods until they were on the other side of the Misty Mountains.

Come to think of it, the Mountains were not that unpleasant to cross on pony back, when there were no goblins or stone giants to deal with. With summer settling in, the passes were free of snow save for a few dirty heaps here and there, leaving paths clearly visible. Although Bilbo had been uneasy when they first entered the mountain range – the Old Ford had them taking the Mountains of Mist on with a dark tunnel that they had spent a whole day riding through with only torches to light their way, much to the hobbit's angst – he had changed his mind with the first patch of Snowdon Lilies he had laid eyes upon.

The white flowers adorned the sides of the road, fully bloomed and shining under the bright June Sun. Bilbo wished that they had more time before them, but unfortunately he knew that they didn't have any to spare. He settled for giving the white petals longing looks from his saddle, wondering if maybe Lord Elrond had a book about the mountain range's flora that he would be willing to lend.

As nice a change from their last outing in the Misty Mountains as it was, Bilbo felt relieved when the high peaks of dark rock parted for a last small pass on their fifth day there. Rock wasn't nearly as comfortable as grass when it came down to sleeping outdoors, and the hobbit cared little for the other dwarves' reassurances; there _might _be goblins lurking around, even though they had been decimated months before and the company was miles south from Goblin Town.

"Sweet Yavanna, green at long last!" Bilbo exclaimed when he discovered that they were only one steep, rocky slope away from grass hills and a tempting , lazy stream. True, it was nothing like the meadows of the Shire, but it already smelt like home. "I was getting tired of hard stone."

"I thought you liked mountains," Kíli pouted. "What is wrong with a little rock?"

"Nothing. With days on end of cliffs so high I can hardly see the sky? Well…"

"You are being overly dramatic."

"We would best not tarry," Thorin interjected when he rode past them. "By the note we have received back from Rivendell, Lord Elrond is expecting us tonight. We have until sundown to find the Hidden Valley."

"Then you should probably let me lead, Uncle," Fíli said innocently, but the teasing smirk on his face was hard to miss. "Lest we find ourselves in Eregion before we know it."

Thorin frowned but had the good grace to stand aside. "By all means," he grumbled, following his nephew with his eyes when the golden-haired youth passed him by.

"Ye should not let him talk to ye like that," Dwalin commented as he stationed his pony next to Thorin's. "Next thing ye know, he'll be walkin' right over ye back in Erebor."

"Nay," the King reassured his long-time friend, "he won't. On this trip I am not his King. A few liberties cannot hurt."

"Aye, ye remember that when he's trippin' you in front of the Council or puttin' nails on your throne as a joke. Ye'll be sorry then," the tattooed warrior said gruffly, plucking dried patches of dirt from his mount's mane and grinding them to dust.

"I fail to see how my nephew's behavior is any concern of yours."

"Captain of the Guard, 'ere, whatever may have people doubtin' you is a concern of mine."

Thorin shook his head with a small smile. "My friend, this time you worry too much. Now come, I do not intend to be late for supper with the elves. Even if it's just leaves and dried fruit that awaits us on the table."

* * *

In the end, they didn't even have to find the Hidden Valley, for it came to them as soon as they reached the first green hill.

The two riders were coming straight for the company, as though they had spotted them from afar, their white horses two growing spots in the surrounding greenery. When they were close enough, Bilbo was able to make out a few distinctive features about the newcomers that branded them as envoys from Rivendell.

Both elves possessed long, dark hair tied off in an elegant ponytail and held in place by silver clasps. They were clad in red-tinted armor that would probably be more out of place on a battlefield than in a mathom gallery, such fine masterpieces of craftsmanship they were. A nice match to the flawless elven features on the riders' faces who, now that Bilbo could see them clearly, were undoubtedly related for they held a great resemblance to one another.

Fíli called for a halt just as the two elves reached them. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, Thorin's pony stepped closer to Bilbo's until the King's boot brushed one lightly furred foot. Some apprehensions were hard to dismiss.

"Greetings," one of the riders spoke up, a silver circlet holding his long hair back as his head dipped into a respectful nod. "My name is Elladan, and this is my brother, Elrohir. We would be honored to lead you to Imladris."

Fíli shifted a bit in his saddle, but to his credit, he never even glanced back at his uncle for support and managed a small smile. "Very well, we are most obliged. I shall let you take the lead then."

Both elves shared a strange look, to which the one called Elrohir gave a small shrug. Bilbo had seen that kind of brotherly exchange before, whenever Thorin was in a foul mood and snarled at his nephews for no apparent reason. Clearly, their elven guides were puzzled about something; but they made no mention of it and just turned their horses around to ride on either side of Fíli.

As they rode around hills and over small bridges, Elladan and Elrohir made polite inquiries about Erebor's recovery, to which Fíli answered to the best of his abilities and with all of his youth's cheerfulness and hope. Dís' eldest son was taking his mission as temporary leader to heart, Bilbo thought with pride, and a side glance in Thorin's direction revealed that the dwarven King was probably thinking along those lines as well.

Topics came and went but their elven guides were particularly interested in the Battle of Five Armies, and listened to Fíli's retelling of the fight with rapt attention. Orc-slaying, Bilbo figured, had the peculiar tendency to bring races closer. Even Elves and Dwarves, apparently.

"I have to say, I am surprised," Elladan said after Fíli was done narrating. Or was it Elrohir? They were as impossible to tell apart as the raven brothers currently preening their feathers on the rump of Dwalin's mount.

"How so?" Fíli asked.

"Well, truly, I did not expect you to be so…" The elf's voice trailed off, as though he was searching for words. It struck Bilbo as odd; he had always thought elves only spoke if they had complete sentences and their repercussions carefully etched and wedged in mind.

Apparently the second brother had no such trouble.

"So polite," the other elf completed. "With some sort of manners."

"Elrohir!"

"It is true. We were warned that you might not be the most pleasant interlocutor to have walked across Arda." Elrohir's piercing gaze took in Fíli's whole body. "I admit to possessing little knowledge about dwarven aging and the changes it entails, but you look surprisingly young for someone of your status."

"Elrohir! Have you no shame?" Elladan almost hissed at his brother.

"I suppose Dwarves can be considered a bit rough and ill-mannered in comparison to Elves," Fíli said calmly in spite of the frown on his features. Bilbo was impressed; Thorin would have long since lashed out at the offending elves. "But I am most certainly not too young for my status. When my forefather Dáin I was slain by cold drakes in the Grey Mountains, he left kingship to his forty-seven year-old son, Thrór. He was little more than a child at that age, and yet he became one of the most powerful kings of the line of Durin."

Elrohir seemed ready to add something but Elladan beat him to it. "My brother's tongue is often quicker than his wits, but he meant no offense. Please accept our deepest apologies and let us speak of this no more."

Fíli looked taken aback at all the deference that was being thrown his way, but he took it all in stride and nodded. "No offense taken. I don't know much about elven culture myself, I am likely to misjudge and make mistakes as well."

"That lad is more of a diplomat than ya'll ever be," Dwalin chuckled as he manoeuvred to ride next to Thorin. "And to elves, of all things! You sure you two are related?"

The comment only won him a dark glance and a grunt, but the tattooed warrior was far from impressed. He was right. Fíli had a way with words that Thorin had never been able to master completely, even after he had regained his position as the rightful King of Erebor. Bilbo had seen his suitor spend evenings writing speeches and hold countless rehearsals for them so he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of his people. Most of the time during his meetings with Elves or Men from Dale, Balin did the talking whenever it looked like a heated argument was about to break out.

Diplomacy was not Thorin's forte, nor would it ever be.

The rest of the relatively short trip was spent in companionable silence, but an awed gasp pierced right through Bilbo's veil of fatigue when they walked around one last rocky hill and laid eyes on Rivendell.

The Last Homely House was every bit as beautiful as he remembered it to be, and even more so. Overlooking the river Bruinen, the high walls and round towers of the elven architecture stood proud and steady as waterfalls cascaded behind them and sent a light mist in the afternoon air. In-between balconies and bridges, trees were supporting bright blossoms or had already shed them in favor of young fruit.

Bilbo bounced in his saddle and managed to snatch a few particularly ripe cherries from a low branch that he wasted no time in plopping into his mouth. The burst of flavor on his tongue drew a moan from the hobbit that earned him a strange look from Thorin and Dwalin.

"Didn't know your burglar could make those noises," the bald dwarf told his King.

"Neither did I, though I must say, I have come to discover that Hobbits are not the most discreet creatures, shows of stealth put aside."

"You two keep this up, and I'm spitting the stones in your face," Bilbo warned around his mouthful of fruit. "I've won every single conkers contest in the Shire for the past twenty years. My aim is impeccable."

His threat went unheeded.

"Must be a hobbit trait to be vocal 'bout everything you see or do," Dwalin pursued, one hand scratching his beard. "Weather, scenery, flowers… I'll bet he even talks when he's sleepin'."

"Aye, that he does. Sometimes."

"Thorin, careful," Bilbo growled.

"Even with his mouth full he can't shut up. Now that'll be quite the nuisance in the bedroom when he's- Ow! Ow!" Dwalin yelped and brought a hand up to cover his eye, shielding it from more cherry stones.

Thorin only spared his friend a glance and chuckled. "Well, you cannot say you haven't been warn- Bilbo, what was that for?" the dwarf grunted when his own eye was assaulted by yet another small projectile. "I was not being disrespectful."

"You didn't put a stop to this, which is just as bad." Bilbo spat the last stone on a patch of dirt and ignored the glare he received from his suitor. "My nightly proclivities are nobody's business but my own, and yours to some extent. Not up for discussion."

"We meant nothing by it," Thorin shrugged, reminding Bilbo strongly of Kíli after the young dwarf had made a particularly stupid comment. "And you have to admit that the idea of you talking in your sleep is amusing, on some level."

"So are your little animal noises when you cling to me in the middle of the night, yet you don't see me disclosing that tidbit around for everyone to hear."

Bilbo nudged Snowball further down the road and hid a satisfied grin when he heard Dwalin's loud guffaws. Served His Royal Gruffness well.

Elladan and Elrohir led the small company on a bridge and came to a stop on a very familiar ledge. There was no chance in this age that Bilbo would forget the day he had been quite unceremoniously shoved in the middle of thirteen enraged dwarves while Elves rode in circles around them, their eyes wide and full of contempt.

Atop a short flight of stairs, Lord Elrond was observing them. As flawless and elegant as always in his billowing red robes, the elf was bestowing a curious – and quite oddly puzzled – look upon his dwarven guests. Bilbo only had a few seconds to take shots at what had the elven lord confused before Elrond's features turned into a serene expression and the Firstborn walked down the stairs to greet the company.

Elladan and Elrohir each gave a little respectful bow after they had dismounted. "We have successfully accomplished our mission. Lord Elrond, here is your honored guest, King Thorin Oakenshield," Elladan announced with a small, yet proud smile as he gestured to Fíli with an elegant flourish.

Strangled gasps erupted from the travelling party and Elrond's eyebrows shot skywards for a second before they reclaimed their rightful position over the elven eyes and an amused smile tugged at his lips.

"I see," he drawled, deadpan, his gaze automatically trailing at the back of the company where Thorin was looking at the two guides with a stunned expression. Elrond gave the King a little nod of acknowledgment and brought his attention back to the younger elves. "I believe we had a little conversation last week on the matter of introductions, yes?"

Elladan and Elrohir shared a confused look and Bilbo had to bite his lower lip to keep from chuckling. Fili's gaping mouth wasn't helping matters.

"Yes," Elladan answered with some hesitation.

"Good. Then I suppose that you have introduced yourselves properly, and gave enough time to your interlocutors for them to introduce themselves as well. Some kind of powerful, dark magic must be at work since the King Under the Mountain seems to have acquired a new body, much younger and fairer than the one he owned the last time he was my guest in Imladris."

Elladan and Elrohir turned astonished eyes to Fíli, who was still frozen as if attacked by a cold drake in the dead of winter.

Elrond's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Or, and that explanation sounds like the most sensible one, you forewent introductions and just dragged our guests over hills and into the Hidden Valley."

"Your hindsight is truly worthy of tales, Lord Elrond," Thorin said as he nudged his pony to walk to the front of the small crowd. He ignored the young elves' stares to look up at Elrond. "I am glad to see that your mind is still as sharp as your sword."

The amused smile was back on Elrond's features. "King Thorin Oakenshield. You were born a flatterer after all." When the elven Lord turned to his young, flabbergasted kin, the smile gave way to a slight frown. "Elladan, Elrohir. Bring the horses and the ponies to the stables. You will unload them and feed them before dinner is ready. Do not be late this time."

With mutters of agreements – and more than a stunned look thrown at Thorin and Fíli – the two elves patiently waited until everyone in the company had dismounted and quickly gathered reins to shepherd all mounts away and out of sight. Whispering and bickering in their mother tongue all the way.

Elrond watched them disappear with a shake of his head. "My apologies, King Thorin," he told the dwarf. "Although they mean well, my sons are not always quite thorough, I am afraid."

_His sons? _Bilbo thought to himself as dwarves exchanged muffled comments all around him. _Well. I knew those eyes were familiar. _

Thorin irked one questioning eyebrow. "Your sons?"

The unspoken inquiry only seemed to aggravate Elrond's frown further. "Yes, my sons. By the Valar, have they at least told you their names?"

"Yes, they did," Fíli said, shaken out of his stupor at last. "They told us their names and that they were sent to guide us to Rivendell."

"And nothing more?" Elrond sighed and massaged his left temple when Fíli shook his head. "The Lady of Mercy lend me her tears, I have none left to weep over these two. Well, be that as it may, I am glad that you all arrived safely to my House." The Lord racked his eyes over the cluster of short guests on his threshold, lingering a bit when he came across Bilbo's gaze for a half-smile, before he spoke again. "Although to be truthful, I was expecting a much larger group to come riding through my gates. Were there… unforeseen difficulties on your journey?"

"We came across a few hindrances, yes, but the company before your eyes is the same that Erebor saw walking out of its gates several weeks ago," Thorin supplied.

Elrond nodded. "Then I am relieved. You and your companions are welcome to stay in my House for as long as you please. This being said, bear in mind that I was only able to acquire ten casks of wine this year. I would suggest pacing yourselves if you intend to stay more than two nights."

The row of chuckles that met his comment brought a twinkle to Elrond's eyes and warmth spread inside Bilbo's chest. A year prior, Thorin had been unable to form decent sentences when speaking to the elven Lord, or even say 'elves' without making it sound like the most disgusting curse word he knew.

Here was the dwarven King, being friendly – no, not quite friendly, rather civil… but that was nice as well – with someone he would have gladly called a pointy-eared, dirt-eating tree-humper last summer.

And to think, that some people still firmly denied the existence of miracles.

* * *

After they had been shown their rooms – individual rooms, which meant no kicking, no shuffling sounds and, praise Yavanna, no snoring! – Lord Elrond guided them to where the evening meal was being served, ignoring Thorin's protests that they hardly looked decent enough for dinner and smelt even worse than that.

"I could hear your insides growl before you even came into my sight," Elrond said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Do not try to pretend that you value hygiene over food at this very moment."

This kind of perfectly-aimed statement even a King Under the Mountain could not counter, so Thorin kept quiet and begrudgingly allowed himself to be steered along to the dining hall, six dwarves and one ravenous hobbit on his heels.

Tables had been laid out on a rather large balcony overlooking the valley down below, where lights from the setting Sun were playing a game of shadows with the waterfalls and the trees. The scenery was familiar to Bilbo; he had had the chance to gaze upon it the last time they had been guests in the Hidden Valley. But his pack had been light, and his heart the furthest thing from it at that time. He was thrilled by this second chance to appreciate elven hospitality in far, far better circumstances.

Two long tables had been prepared near the middle of the balcony, bracketed between wooden benches overflowing with cushions. The way they were disposed suggested that they were meant to make sitting on the benches a comfortable affair, but Bilbo could take a hint. Rivendell was not used to hosting dwarven guests, consequently the tables were a bit too high.

Sweet Eru, the sheer amount of porcelain and crystal on those tables! Not to mention the silverware, dazzling enough to make even Lobelia Sackville-Baggins ditch the Shire and brave the Lone-Lands, for certain. Once more in his life, Bilbo felt awed by Elves' appreciation of such finely-crafted items and honored that they allowed guests as rowdy as Dwarves – which they were, there was no denying that, as much as the hobbit was fond of his friends – to use them, were it just for one evening.

A quick count told Bilbo that the longest table could hold fifteen people and the other, much shorter one, eight. Clearly Elrond had expected the whole Company of old to come for dinner, the five untouched barrels of what could only be wine waiting patiently near the tables were proof enough.

A tall elf with slender features and dark, long hair held back by a bronze circlet approached and bowed to Elrond. Gandalf had known this elf, even called his name when they had first arrived in Imladris, starving, covered in troll snot and Eru knows what sort of vermin had been inside those dreadful bags the three giants had stuffed them in. Bilbo scrunched up his face as he searched his memories for the elvish name. Cindar? No. Lindar? Maybe, it did sound familiar. Oh no, wait, of course-

"Lindir," Elrond greeted with a polite bow of his own. "Our guests have arrived."

"Indeed they have," Lindir replied, appraising the small company with careful eyes. It occurred to Bilbo that maybe the elf still had the memory of a dozen dwarven hairy backsides desecrating a fountain still burning holes in his mind. If that was the case, the Firstborn was doing a fine job concealing it. "Should we not wait until they are all here to start dinner?"

"It is done. Their travelling party possesses fewer members than expected." Elrond gestured to the smaller table. "As such we will have no need of the second table. Could you please inform the kitchens?"

"Of course, Lord Elrond." With another graceful bow and a respectful nod to Thorin, Lindir walked away and disappeared down a narrow staircase on one side of the balcony.

Elrond approached the long table and took a seat at one end of it, in a high-backed chair, encouraging his guests to follow his lead with one hand.

Which they did quite eagerly, as though they had already forgotten what dinner in the company of elves entailed on the matter of food. As etiquette dictated, Thorin sat down on Elrond's right and shot Bilbo a pointed look that left no room for argument. The hobbit could only sigh and make himself comfortable on the bench next to the dwarven King, the velvet under his rear a welcome change from Snowball's leather saddle.

One by one, in a remarkable show of discipline, the other dwarves claimed their own seats at the elven table, although admittedly none was willing to sit directly on Elrond's left. Fíli, Kíli and Dwalin settled down next to Bilbo, with Bofur and Gloin across the table, while Bombur occupied the end of the table – where nobody would have to fight the rotund dwarf for cushions.

In the end, three seats remained empty next to the Lord of Rivendell, and while elven maidens had already come to retrieve the superfluous settings, cutlery and plates were left untouched at those seats. Bilbo frowned in thought; Elrond's sons were certainly bound to join them, though they had yet to appear, but he had doubts as to who would be occupying the third seat. Another guest, perhaps? A lone traveller crossing Trollshaws?

Or maybe Lord Elrond's wife, Bilbo mused. She would be a delight to meet, no doubt.

Lindir reappeared with five other dark-haired elves dressed in simple white robes and carrying large trays. Their content was still out of sight, but the smell alone had Bilbo's stomach gnawing fiercely on the ribcage that imprisoned it. Dwarves could stick their awful tastes right where they belonged; he would be a very rude hobbit if he didn't show just how much he appreciated elven food.

There was a wavering, uncertain glint in Lindir's eyes as he looked the table over, but a gesture from Elrond chased it completely and the elf walked forth.

Dishes of various sizes and shapes were deposited along the table. As expected, there was no shortage of green in the different bowls and plates, much to the dwarves' inner consternation. Dwalin eyed the bowl of lettuce that a beautiful elf maid settled in front of him as though it had just gone and insulted his whole lineage, and Gloin's nose scrunched up a little. Thankfully that was as far as it went and no other dwarve outwardly questioned the choice of food.

However, little murmurs of surprise were exchanged when the other trays were unloaded. Boiled eggs. Roast potatoes covered in goat cheese and onions. Smoked salmon, the whole beast, rosy flesh sprinkled with parsley. Another fish, Bilbo failed to recognize it, but it had the most enticing smell and the hobbit felt himself salivate just from the lazy curls of steam rising up from the plate.

Oh, and a few bowls of dried fruit and nuts. Wouldn't be a real elven dinner without them, after all.

The whole company sat frozen, fork in hand, their gazes glued to the thoroughly unexpected offerings. A nice prospect, having all of his dwarves speechless, but Bilbo only wished Bofur could close his mouth. It was a bit rude, even for the Children of Mahal.

Thorin managed to tear his attention away from the tempting dishes in order to bestow a dubious look on Elrond, to which the age-old elf responded with a twitch of lips that bordered on a small, amused smile. Bilbo gave his suitor's boot a light nudge with his own bare foot, praying that the King would take the hint and find it in himself to thank Elrond for the nice attention. Even gruffly, that would work as well.

Before Thorin could say anything, however, there was a hurried patter of booted feet and all guests raised their heads to see Elladan and Elrohir come hurtling into the dining space. Without their riding armors, both lads were looking far less bulky and sturdy than when they had first approached the company amidst the rolling hills. With their slightly-wrinkled robes and lopsided circlets – that they kept adjusting fruitlessly, so great was their haste – they neared the table, both acutely aware of their father's piercing gaze.

They strongly reminded Bilbo of Fíli and Kíli, the day the lads had been late for a patrol due to a night of drinking. Willing to act as if nothing was out of place but flinching under their guardian's reproachful glare.

Although Bilbo was certain Lord Elrond used more refined words than Thorin when chastising his heirs, and never threatened to have them clean the depths of Rivendell with their own tongues should they ever disappoint him again.

"Well, it seems you have finally decided to grace our lesser souls with your presence tonight," the elf Lord drawled when his sons were within hearing range – and had realized that they had no choice but to sit next to their father. "One might think that you needed time to dress properly, yet again, one would be mistaken."

Elladan and Elrohir stopped just short of their seats and stayed on their feet next to one another, clearly lost to the throes of discomfort. Bilbo didn't miss the look of pity that both heirs of Erebor gave the two elves as they fidgeted with their already full glass of wine. They were no strangers to being reprimanded in the most embarrassing of places.

Before Elrond could torture his sons any more, there was another set of footsteps falling on the tiled floor, this one much lighter and quicker.

"Don't scold them, please! It's not their fault!" a small, entirely too young voice piped in.

Before seven dwarven pairs of eye, as well as one hobbit's, a wee lad wriggled between the elven brothers and came to stand protectively in front of them, small arms crossed on an equally small chest. He couldn't possibly be taller than Bilbo, but the round ear shells and booted feet marked him as a child of Men. From under the longest strands of his unruly mop of dark brown hair, the boy was staring at Elrond with all the determination and defiance of youth.

"They would have been on time but they had to help me dress!" the child explained. "I wanted to wear the gray pants but they were too high, even with a chair. Dan and Rohir walked past my room and helped me. You can't scold them for that!"

Lord Elrond, as well as his entire flock of guests, considered the young one for the better part of a minute. Standing as tall as his short legs could afford, with his chin raised high and his chest puffed out, the lad looked every bit as fierce and loyal a protector as a wolf mother defending her pups. Never mind that those pups were twice her size.

Some air puffed out of that little chest when a small smile bloomed on Elrond's face and the Lord nodded. "Very well, in that case they may be excused. Now, the three of you, please take a seat. If there is one thing that I have learned about our dwarven guests, it is that they eat swiftly and mercilessly, and more often than not you might find yourself picking at crumbs or licking plates."

A rumble of laughter erupted down the table, as nobody was hypocrite enough to counter the well-aimed jibe at Dwarves' hearty appetite. But the company showed enough restrain to wait until Elrond's sons and their undersized lifesaver settled down before they dug into the plates of food.

With the bowls and pitchers so far on the table, Bilbo's short stature became a real hindrance and more than once he considered getting up on the bench altogether for the remainder of the meal. A good thing, then, that his suitor always had an eye trailing on him and had soon picked up on his difficulties.

As such, Thorin became overly attentive and reacted the second Bilbo seemed to want something. The hobbit's plate never remained empty for long, nor did his glass, and a fresh slice of bread was always handed to him even as he chewed on the last bite from the previous one. The sheer thoughtfulness of it all had Bilbo's heart swimming with affection for his dwarf. In other circumstances he might have argued that he was a grown hobbit and perfectly capable of looking after himself; but a little coddling once in a while felt nice.

So divided was Thorin's attention, between Bilbo's plate, his own, and small talk with Elrond about the recovery of Erebor, that the dwarven King failed to notice the small inquisitive eyes peering at him from over a bowl of dried plums across the table.

However Bilbo did. He watched with barely-concealed amusement as the child racked disbelieving eyes over Thorin's sturdy frame. Seemingly unfazed, the dwarf kept eating and answering Elrond's questions thorough the meal.

When dishes were almost completely emptied, Bilbo decided to twist fate a little bit. With a small cough to disguise a chuckle, the hobbit gave Thorin's foot a little nudge.

Consequently, Thorin's head raised and his icy blue gaze met the lad's light blue one. There was a twinkle of surprise in the boy's eyes, but to Bilbo's surprise, the young one didn't avert them and kept staring at the King. A noteworthy feat, since many of those who crossed Thorin's gaze felt compelled to look away.

"Yes?" the dwarf asked when the child stayed mute.

"N-nothing, Mister… sir," came the wavering answer and then the boy did begin to look uncomfortable, squirming close to Elladan's side.

Thorin used an oversized, ornamented napkin to dab at his mouth before he offered a small, hesitant smile. "My apologies, I only realize now that we have yet to be properly introduced. I am Thorin, son of Thráin, King of Erebor."

The lad hesitated and sought Elrond's eyes out. Whatever he found in those age-old orbs seemed to give him strength for he puffed out once more. "I am Estel, adopted son of Elrond and… well I'm not a King."

Thorin chuckled warmly. "I expect not. Pleased to meet you, akhûnith."

Estel's little nose wrinkled in puzzlement in a way that reminded Bilbo of his neighbor Hamfast's eldest son when the lad was first presented with a carrot. "No, my name is Estel."

"I know. This is just how my people calls young men such as you."

"Oh. You have your own language then, just like Ada?" Estel asked, smiling at Elrond.

"Indeed. It is called Khuzdul."

"Dan and Rohir have taught me Sindarin since I was two, and Ada says I'm rather good now," the boy boasted proudly. "Maybe you could teach me… Kuzdoul a bit? I'm a fast learner, you'll see!"

"Ah, unfortunately akhûnith, this language is sacred and meant for dwarven ears only, I am afraid." Bilbo saw Thorin's brows soften when Estel's cheerful features turned into a disappointed pout. "But we hold no such secrecy for Iglishmêk, so I could show you a few things in that language."

Estel's curiosity was aroused anew. "You have a second language? How is it different from Kouzdal?"

"Iglishmêk is a silent speech where gestures carry the same weight as spoken words," the King explained with the patience of one who had to teach two reckless nephews for all their lives. "Ears and mouth are not needed, only hands and eyes."

Estel's mouth fell open at this, as though the dwarf in front of him had just sprouted a second head. "You can speak with your _hands_?" The child whirled on his seat to face Elrond. "Ada, they can speak with their hands!" he said as if the elven Lord had just arrived and hadn't heard Thorin. "No word at all! Isn't it great?"

"Indeed, it is," Elrond agreed around a sip of wine. "Would that you knew it as well, Imladris would be a most silent and grateful place." When he caught Elladan and Elrohir's interested gazes, the Lord of Rivendell added: "Though I doubt I would appreciate certain persons being able to converse and plot when I stand in the same room as them," and watched with satisfaction as his sons' attention was redirected to the lettuce on their plates.

"A most inconvenient aspect, I agree," Thorin admitted, shooting his nephews a glance of his own that wiped the grins right off of their faces, "but nevertheless, it has served my kin well, in the direst of times."

"If you want to stay with Lord Elrond, Uncle, Fili and I could teach him a few words," Kíli offered shyly, but Bilbo wasn't fooled. It was just a façade to hide a smirk and thoughts filled with mischief at the prospect of teaching a young boy the nastiest words of Iglishmêk.

Thorin's eyes narrowed as he considered the idea. "I suppose it would drill some patience into your hard skulls," he finally relented, turning back to Elrond's adopted son. "Estel, let me introduce Fíli and Kíli, sons of Víli, my nephews and heirs. I strongly advise you not to believe everything they tell you."

As Fíli and Kíli both made a show of looking downright outraged, Estel blinked and stared at the youngest heir of Erebor. "You are a dwarf too?"

"What? Yes, erm, I'm a dwarf," Kíli replied, a bit puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, you're not… I mean you don't have…" The boy squirmed a bit in his seat as he fought to find a way to convey his thoughts. Which he did. "In the stories Lindir reads to me, Dwarves always have a beard. Are you sure you are a dwarf?"

Silence followed Estel's question, soon to be replaced by roars of laughter and poking fingers finding their way into Kíli's ribs. Bilbo sympathetically patted the young dwarf's arm and offered him the best smile he could conjure up. It seemed the hobbit would be the only one providing some kind of comfort to the archer, since even Thorin was too busy laughing at his nephew's expense.

"Mahal, bless this world for children," the King chuckled when his mirth finally subsided. "Yes, akhûnith, Kíli is a dwarf, albeit a very young one. He has time to grow his own beard, in the same way you do, little man."

At this Estel's face contorted into slight aversion. "I don't think I want a beard. They look scratchy."

More chuckles were drawn from the table, as Elladan and Elrohir – who, up to that moment, had been sitting very still for fear that Estel might unknowingly anger their guests – relaxed and exchanged amused smiles.

"I like your hair, though," the boy stated. "It's long and nice and it has so many colors too! There's red, there's gold… but I think I like yours the best," Estel told Thorin, who raised one eyebrow in surprise.

"Do you now?"

"Yes. It's darker than night, just like my Ada's, but you have silver streaks and they're pretty!"

Bilbo swiftly grabbed his glass and drowned his giggles in wine. He would forever cherish the memory of a child calling an almost two-century-old dwarf pretty while munching on potatoes at an elven table. And never mind the swift kick to the shin his cheek earned him.

"When the time comes that you are able to grow a beard, you may find my whole hair decked out in silver, and its appeal greatly diminished," Thorin said gently.

"Why?"

"Well… it is only normal for hair to turn white as one ages, and while I am not that old yet, I am undoubtedly not in my prime anymore."

Thorin's voice trailed off a bit at the end of his sentence, causing all giggling to die in Bilbo's throat. Something in the King's eyes was off, as though a candle had suddenly been extinguished and the cobalt orbs left in the dark. He was not the young dwarf of old, the fearless prince leading his people to the safe realms of Eriador, nor the fierce warrior swinging his sword at Azanulbizar. He was King, a weary King, who had spent almost his entire life trying to do right by his people and still was. A King who, even as white and silver invaded his majestic mane, was willing to travel across the world for the safety of the ones he held most dear.

A King, who would only be given some peace when Mahal claimed his life.

Bilbo's hand slithered under the table and grasped Thorin's fingers, which were resting on the dwarf's thigh, for a warm squeeze. In his prime or not, this hobbit would not abandon his suitor even for a whole year of Farmer Maggot's succulent apples.

"I don't understand, what happens when you have white hair?" Estel asked innocently.

Thorin was about to respond when a small cough from Elrond caught his attention. A pointed look revealed that the conversation was not heading anywhere the elven Lord liked, which meant that a few issues – such as aging and mortality – had yet to be explained to the little man.

It was Fíli who, surprisingly, swept in to save the day. "Estel, I could not help but notice that you wield your knife as though it were a sword. Do you by chance have some experience, in that field?"

Estel diverted his attention to the golden-haired dwarf and grinned. "Yes, Dan and Rohir have trained me since I was old enough to hold a stick. When he is in Imladris, Glorfindel joins us, but he is so strong I have never managed to hit him. Do you want to see what I can do?"

"My brother and I would be honored," Fíli said with far too much solemnity.

The serious face amused the child, whose smile stretched his features so much that Bilbo feared they might tear. Estel whirled around to face Elrond, excitement causing him to practically bounce in his seat. "Ada, may we be excused to go to the training yard? I promise to be in my room before night settles in," he added hurriedly when it looked like the elf was about to argue.

The Lord of Rivendell pondered his options for a while, and gave Thorin a look that might have very well been the Iglishmêk counterpart for 'Is this a good idea?', to which the dwarven King's shrug certainly meant 'Probably not, but what can we do?'.

"Very well," Elrond said slowly, carefully, "but no actual weapons are to be used tonight. I would hate to spoil this lovely evening by abandoning our guests to stitch you up."

"As I would loathe disturbing the peace of this restful place by beating the two of you to within an inch of your lives," Thorin warned his nephews calmly.

"Point gotten," Fíli nodded as he rose along with his younger brother. "Lead the way, Estel!"

Estel happily jumped to his feet and all but ran around the table to grasp Fíli's and Kíli's hands within his one smaller ones. With the dwarven brothers firmly secured in his grasp, the lad steered them away and out of the dining space, all the while bubbling enthusiastically about one special trick that Glorfindel had taught him and how even a dwarf couldn't do anything to stop it.

When they were out of sight, Bilbo spied Elladan and Elrohir sharing a knowing look, and wasn't surprised when Elladan spoke. "We should probably go as well. Lindir has little time to watch over Estel tonight, we should do it in his stead."

With a mumble of 'By your leave' and wishes for them to spend an enjoyable evening, the elven brothers stood and started down a corridor where Estel's high-pitched voice could still be heard rambling about this and that, punctuated once in a while by a booming laugh from Fíli or Kíli.

"Of all the powers ascribed to you by tales, I was not aware that speaking to children was one of them, son of Thráin," Elrond commented just as his elder sons' long hair disappeared from sight.

Thorin chuckled as he refilled his glass along with Bilbo's. "For us Dwarves, children are gifts, more precious even than all the mithril in Khazad-dûm. We cherish and treasure them more fiercely than a dragon guards its hoard, for they are few and far between. Every babe born to a dwarrowdam is a blessing from Mahal."

"Very true," Bofur said cheerfully, his cheeks a bit rosy from his last four glasses of elven wine. "And yer Estel seems like a good lil' lad."

"Indeed he is," Elrond nodded. "He has always been."

"How did he fall under your care, if I may ask?" Thorin inquired, his right hand returning on his thigh to tangle with Bilbo's. The hobbit bit back a pleased grin and manoeuvred his bare foot to rest onto his suitor's boot comfortably.

"A sad tale. The boy was not even old enough to walk when his father was slain by orcs on a hunt. The man was a dear friend of mine, which is why I decided to foster his son. Estel has been living here in Imladris since that day a few years ago."

"A sad tale indeed," Thorin nodded, his fingers tightening around Bilbo's.

"And yet no grief or darkness has ever plagued the young boy's heart. From the very beginning he has been in high spirits, eager to learn and quick to forgive. He brought life and light into this place, sowing the seeds of hope into even my sons' despairing souls."

"Despairing?" Bilbo frowned. Elladan and Elrohir weren't the exact picture of joy, but they certainly didn't seem to be drowning in despair.

"Yes, Master Baggins. Before Estel came to us, I spent almost half a century watching my sons wither with each passing day, lost to a disease to which I knew the cause but not the way to cure it."

Elrond looked up and understood from the heavy gazes upon his person that he could not leave it at that. With a sigh, he pursued. "Your grandfather Thrór was but a glint in his father's eye, King Thorin, when the Lady of Rivendell was captured by orcs in the Redhorn Pass, in the Misty Mountains. Celebrían, my beloved wife, the mother of my children, suffered a cruel fate at the hands of her tormentors who tortured her until her mind was poisoned and her reason torn to shreds. Many Suns rose and fell before her sons were able to rescue her and bring her back to me."

Bilbo felt his heart clench as the horrible story unravelled. Oh, would that he was of less gentle folk! This way he wouldn't feel so keenly affected by such things. The hobbit could only squeeze Thorin's hand tighter and listen to the rest of the tale.

"For one complete year, I tried to heal her, to cleanse her heart of the atrocities that she had had to endure. But it was all for naught. Her mind was already gone to the Undying Lands, and her body soon followed, leaving behind a mourning husband and grief-stricken children. Her departure dug a hole in our hearts that only Estel was able to fill."

Silence, heavy and uncomfortable, hung in the air after the Lord of Rivendell was done speaking. As though a crystal bubble was encompassing them all, and nobody dared to breathe lest they damaged it.

Which didn't prevent Elrond from shattering it with a wave of his hand. "Come, now. It is no time for such depressing tales. Not when you have rid the world of a fire-breathing calamity and reclaimed your long lost home. A bout of celebration is in order." The elven Lord leaned sideways until his sharp eyes settled on one dwarf in particular. "Master Bofur, is it?"

The toy-maker stopped in mid-bite and abandoned his eggs to look at the elf. "Aye, that would be me."

"If my memory serves me well, you have great singing skills. Would you care to make this evening livelier than it already is? Just try not to step on the food."

The dwarves were all left speechless by the request. Thorin made a strangled noise down his glass of wine and Dwalin actually choked on a nut. Both Gloin and Bombur had to vigorously thump his back for it to come down the right way.

Bofur was first to recover and gifted the Lord of Rivendell with his best grin. "Alright, here goes!" he said cheerfully as he hoisted himself up on the bench, making it tremble and forcing Bilbo to latch onto Thorin for fear that he might tumble to the ground.

"You promised we would get some _rest_," the hobbit complained, pulling hard on one of his suitor's braids for good measure.

"I did not have mischievous elven Lords in mind when I made that promise," Thorin countered with a pained wince, drawing a chuckle from Elrond, before his voice was drowned out.

"_There's an inn, there's a merry old inn, _

_Beneath an old gray hill!_

_And there they brew a beer so brown,_

_That the Man in the Moon himself came down,_

_One night to drink his fill!..." _


End file.
